There were three, I remember, placed side by side like three
giant brothers; then two or three smaller ones in a row, and beyond
these many others ranged in a mass unevenly, sometimes so close
together that they appeared to be jostling one another out of the
way.
For several days we had been in the region of perpetual snow;
and soon we gathered about the fire which the arriero had
kindled for our camp. Its warmth was grateful, despite our native
woolen garments and heavy ponchos.
The wind whistled ominously; a weird, senseless sound that
smote the ear with madness. The white of the snow and the dull
gray of the rocks were totally unrelieved by any touch of green or
play of water; a spot lonely as the human soul and terrifying as
death.
Harry had gone to examine the hoofs of his mule, which had
limped slightly during the afternoon; Le Mire and I sat side by
side near the fire, gazing at the play of the flames. For some
minutes we had been silent.
"In Paris, perhaps--" she began suddenly, then stopped short
and became again silent.
But I was fast dropping into melancholy and wanted to hear her
voice, and I said:
"Well? In Paris--"
She looked at me, her eyes curiously somber, but did not
speak. I insisted:
"You were saying, Desiree, in Paris--"
She made a quick movement and laughed unpleasantly.
"Yes, my friend--but it is useless. I was thinking of you.
'Ah! A card! Mr. Paul Lamar. Show him in, Julie. But no, let
him wait--I am not at home.' That, my friend, would be in Paris."
I stared at her.
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