himself near the Genoese and the Augustine.

"Signore," he said, in Italian, raising his cap to the former with the
same marked respect as before, though it was evidently no easy matter to
impress him with the deference that the obscure usually feel for the
great--"this is likely to prove an unfortunate end to a voyage that began
with so fair appearances. I could wish that your eccellenza, with all this
noble and fair company, was safely landed in the town of Vévey."

"Dost thou mean that we have cause to fear more than delay?"

"Signore, the mariner's life is one of unequal chances: now he floats in a
lazy calm, and presently he is tossed between heaven and earth, in a way
to make the stoutest heart sick. My knowledge of these waters is not
great, but there are signs making themselves seen in the sky, here above
the peak that lies in the direction of Mont Blanc, that would trouble me,
were this our own clue but treacherous Mediterranean."

"What thinkest thou of this, father; a long residence in the Alps must
have given thee some insight into their storms?"

The Augustine had been grave and thoughtful from the moment that he ceased
to converse with Balthazar. He, too, had been struck with the omens, and,
long used to study the changes of the weather, in a region where the
elements sometimes work their will on a scale commensurate with the
grandeur of the mountains, his thoughts had been anxiously recurring to
the comforts and security of some of those hospitable roofs in the city to
which they were bound, and which were always ready to receive the clavier
of St. Bernard, in return for the services and self-denial of his
brotherhood.