The bright morning sun dazzled the eyes, the snow had ceased, the mists
had vanished, the mountain air was so clear and light that the
new sensation of breathing it was like the having entered on a new
existence.
To help the delusion, the solid ground itself seemed gone,
and the mountain, a shining waste of immense white heaps and masses, to
be a region of cloud floating between the blue sky above and the earth
far below.
Some dark specks in the snow, like knots upon a little thread, beginning
at the convent door and winding away down the descent in broken lengths
which were not yet pieced together, showed where the Brethren were at
work in several places clearing the track. Already the snow had begun to
be foot-thawed again about the door. Mules were busily brought out, tied
to the rings in the wall, and laden; strings of bells were buckled
on, burdens were adjusted, the voices of drivers and riders sounded
musically. Some of the earliest had even already resumed their journey;
and, both on the level summit by the dark water near the convent, and on
the downward way of yesterday's ascent, little moving figures of men and
mules, reduced to miniatures by the immensity around, went with a clear
tinkling of bells and a pleasant harmony of tongues.
In the supper-room of last night, a new fire, piled upon the feathery
ashes of the old one, shone upon a homely breakfast of loaves, butter,
and milk. It also shone on the courier of the Dorrit family, making tea
for his party from a supply he had brought up with him, together with
several other small stores which were chiefly laid in for the use of the
strong body of inconvenience. Mr Gowan and Blandois of Paris had already
breakfasted, and were walking up and down by the lake, smoking their
cigars.
'Gowan, eh?' muttered Tip, otherwise Edward Dorrit, Esquire,
turning over the leaves of the book, when the courier had left them to
breakfast. 'Then Gowan is the name of a puppy, that's all I have got to
say! If it was worth my while, I'd pull his nose. But it isn't worth my
while--fortunately for him. How's his wife, Amy?
I suppose you know. You generally know things of that sort.' 'She is better, Edward. But they are not going to-day.' 'Oh! They are not going to-day! Fortunately for that fellow too,' said
Tip, 'or he and I might have come into collision.'
'It is thought better here that she should lie quiet to-day, and not be
fatigued and shaken by the ride down until to-morrow.'