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"But the town
looks so stiff and tidy, somehow--so Protestant;
it has a self-satisfied air. No, I don't like it; it
reminds me of Julia."
Montanelli laughed. "Poor boy, what a misfortune!
Well, we are here for our own amusement, so there
is no reason why we should stop. Suppose we take a
sail on the lake to-day, and go up into the mountains
to-morrow morning?"
"But, Padre, you wanted to stay here?"
"My dear boy, I have seen all these places a
dozen times. My holiday is to see your pleasure.
Where would you like to go?"
"If it is really the same to you, I should like to
follow the river back to its source."
"The Rhone?"
"No, the Arve; it runs so fast."
"Then we will go to Chamonix."
They spent the afternoon drifting about in a
little sailing boat. The beautiful lake produced
far less impression upon Arthur than the gray and
muddy Arve. He had grown up beside the Mediterranean,
and was accustomed to blue ripples;
but he had a positive passion for swiftly moving
water, and the hurried rushing of the glacier
stream delighted him beyond measure.


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