Everything was now hurry and commotion. All the village was astir;
the excitement became intense. From the window we saw men running
eagerly towards our chalet with pickaxes, ropes, hatchets, and other
necessary adjuncts of Alpine adventure. The two great hounds, with
others of their breed, were bounding joyfully about in the snow,
and showing, I thought, by their intelligent glances and impatient
behavior, that they already understood the nature of the intended
day's work.

At sunrise we sat down to a hearty meal, and amid the clamor of
voices and rattling of platters, the elder Raoul unfolded to us
his plans for reaching the valley, which both he and his brother
had recognized as the higher level of the Arblen, several thousand
feet above our present altitude, and in mid-winter a perilous place
to visit.

"The spot is completely shut off from the valley by the cataract,"
said he, "and last year a landslip blocked up the only route to
it from the mountains. How the child got there is a mystery!"

"We must cut our way over the Thurgau Pass," cried Augustin.

"That is just my idea. Quick now, if you have finished eating,
call Georges and Albert, and take the ropes with you!"

Our little party was speedily equipped, and amid the lusty cheers
of the men and the sympathetic murmurs of the women, we passed
swiftly through the little snow-carpeted street and struck into
the mountain path. We were six in number, St. Aubyn and myself,
the two Raouls, and a couple of villagers carrying the requisite