Chayne leaned his elbows on the wooden rail.

The mists in the valley below had been swept away; overhead the stars shone out of an ebony sky very bright as on some clear winter night of frost, and of all that gigantic amphitheater of mountains which circled behind them from right to left there was hardly a hint.

Perhaps here some extra cube of darkness showed where a pinnacle soared, or there a vague whiteness glimmered where a high glacier hung against the cliff, but for the rest the darkness hid the mountains.

A cold wind blew out of the East and Chayne shivered.
"You are cold, monsieur ?" said Michel.

"It is your first night." "No, I am not cold," Chayne replied, in a low and quiet voice.