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Little Sybil was sitting quietly by her uncle; her favourite place, for though frightened of him, she was always pleased to be near him. He stroked her smooth, soft hair, and she looked up in his face with a smile.

“Are you going up the mountain to-day, Uncle Ralph?” he asked.

“Not to-day exactly, but very early to-morrow,” he replied.

“What you going to do early to-morrow?” asked Lady Severn, who had not heard Sybil’s question.

“I am going to ascend the ‘Pic noir’,” he answered. “I think I mentioned it some days ago. There is a whole party going; rather more than I care about, but poor Price and Vladimir Nodouroff were very anxious for me to join them. We dine at the Lion d’Or today, and start this evening, if fine. I shall not be back till the day after to-morrow, but I suppose that will make no difference to you?”

“Oh, dear no,” his mother, “but by-the-by, do not stay away longer than that. I want you on Friday to take us all to Berlet. It is rather too far to go without a gentleman, but the view, I hear, is lovely.”