now? I feel rather lonely."

This was said in such a pathetic, aggrieved tone, that Bernardine
laughed and looked at her companion. His face wore an unusually bright
expression. He was evidently out to enjoy himself.

"_You_ talk," she said; "and tell me all about the country."

And he told her what he knew, and, amongst other things, about the
avalanches. He was able to point out where some had fallen the previous
year. He stopped in the middle of his conversation to tell her to put up
her umbrella.

"I can't trouble to hold it for you," he said; "but I don't mind opening
it. The sun is blazing to-day, and you will get your eyes bad if you are
not careful. That would be a pity, for you seem to me rather better
lately."

"What a confession for you to make of any one!" said she.

"Oh, I don't mean to say that you will ever get well," he added grimly.
"You seem to have pulled yourself in too many directions for that. You
have tried to be too alive; and, now you are obliged to join the genus
cabbage."

"I am certainly less ill than I was when I first came," she said; "and I
feel in a better frame of mind altogether. I am learning a good deal in
sad Petershof."

"That is more than I have done," he answered.