It is always sad, the last night." "It is not exactly as we planned it," replied Chayne, and his eyes moved from the throng before him in the direction of the churchyard, where a few days before his friend had been laid amongst the other Englishmen who had fallen in the Alps.

"I do not think that I shall ever come back to Chamonix," he said, in a quiet and heart-broken voice.
Michel gravely nodded his head.
"There are no friendships," said he, "like those made amongst the snows.
But this, monsieur, I say: Your friend is not greatly to be pitied.

He was young, had known no suffering, no ill-health, and he died at once.

He did not even kick the snow for a little while." "No doubt that's true," said Chayne, submitting to the commonplace, rather than drawing from it any comfort.

He called to the waiter.