One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. He talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time. She had pushed aside her azure veil, taken off her snow-glasses, and sat smiling under her hand at the shining glories—the lit cornices, the blue shadows, the softly rounded, enormous snow masses, the deep places full of quivering luminosity—of the Taschhorn and Dom. "Let's try, at all events," returned the Amazon. Come along, you mad jade. Jack! Mon dieu, but he was unarmed. Wood, when he does return, I'd send him about his business. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. I am quite sure that I do not know you. 'He's a good fellow, and 'twill all end well'. ” His voice assumed an easy detached tone.
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