Richards Laura Elizabeth Howe - Honor Bright стр 14.

The châlet stood half way up one of the lesser Alps, on a ledge which jutted out from the green wooded slope. All around were other Alps, some green to the top, others capped or mantled with snow; others again, which seemed to scorn all covering, and towered gaunt and bare, their rocky sides seamed and scarred. These were dead giants,

Honor thought. She did not love to look on them, they were too terrifying; she lifted her eyes to the loftiest summit of all, that of the Dent du Midi himself, the mighty Prince of her dreams. How glorious he was; how noble!

As she lay watching, a glow stole over the brow of the white giant; the green of the nearer ones grew warmer; the sun was going down, and the world was turning to rose and gold. A level shaft flamed through the window and fell on Honors bed, lighting up the quilt. Look! it seemed to say. This too is wonderful!

It certainly was; heaviest linen, so covered with embroidery that the groundwork could hardly be seen. All in white; yet with a bewildering variety about it, somehow. Looking closer, Honor saw that it was divided into five compartments, a round one in the centre, the others fitting into it. The centre-piece displayed the sun, moon and stars, beautifully wrought in shining linen. In one of the others were delicate shapes of Alpine flowers, so lovely that one hardly missed the color. Another held ferns and mosses, while a third was covered with birds, in full flight or perched on twig and bough. The fourth at first Honor thought it was entirely empty, but soon she spied in one corner a bit of work, evidently the beginning of a design. She was puzzling over it when a sudden whiff struck her nostrils, a pungent, aromatic whiff which made her exclaim unconsciously, Oh, how hungry I am!

A la bonne heure! Gretli stood beaming in the doorway, carrying a tray; on the tray was a blue bowl, steaming, fragrant. Behold the soup of Mademoiselle! Our mountain air brings the appetite; cream and onions, with a little of our oldest cheese behold!

Standing on one side, arms akimbo, the benevolent giantess watched the consumption of the restorative soup, and which face was brighter, hers or the consumers, it would have been hard to say.

CHAPTER VII ZITLI

Honor tasted, sipped, drank deep of the pleasant cooling draught, herbs and honey and whey mysteriously mingled; then sank back on the pillow. Was it really Gretli or a mountain? The Dent dOche , come to visit her and accept her homage? Why not? Hesperus came! Mountains maidens tisane

The next thing Honor knew the morning sun was shining in on her: not directly in her face, but reflected through the open door in the little mirror opposite the foot of her bed. She sat up, blinking and rubbing her eyes.

Where am I? she said again, as she had said the day before; the next moment she knew, for there was Gretli in the doorway, beaming broad and bright as the sun itself. She carried a basin a very small one and a towel of homespun damask fit for a duchess.

It is to wash the face, is it not? she said. Before breakfast; such is the custom of the honored Ladies, one is aware.

Oh, thank you, Gretli! What a pretty towel!

Gretli beamed broader still. It is of my trousseau! she said. I chose it for mademoiselle, because it is the pattern I like best; observe! the double-basket weave; that is not ugly, hein ? I spun and wove that when I was of the age of Mademoiselle.

Your trousseau! cried Honor. Are you going to be married, Gretli? Oh, how exciting! Does Madame know? May I tell the girls? Who is he? Is he as handsome as but he couldnt be!

Mademoiselle must not excite herself before breakfast! said Gretli demurely. All girls make their trousseau, is it not so? Then if the good God sends a husband, voilà! one is not unprepared. Permit that I brush the hair of mademoiselle; the brush is entirely new, a present from my godmother. But, what hair! Verily, it curls like the flames on the hearth. A fire of gold, is it not so?

Isnt it horrid? sighed Honor. Id give everything I have in the world to have it black, Gretli!

Gretli cried out in horror.

Mademoiselle! the wonderful hair; beautiful enough, with reverence be it said, for the tresses of Ste. Gêneviève herself. But mademoiselle jests, of a surety. She is doubtless thankful, as she surely ought to be, for this gift of the good God, which might be desired by queens. Voilà! Mademoiselle is tidiness itself; a little moment, and I bring her breakfast!

What a breakfast that was! Café-au-lait ,

a whole bowl of it, smoking, fragrant, delicious; crisp rolls, fresh butter, honey and cream, and a little tea-rose-colored egg, which Gretli declared the youngest pullet had laid on purpose not half an hour before. All this neatly arranged on a wooden tray so beautifully carved that Honor cried out at sight of it. Gretli glowed responsive.

Zitlis work! she said proudly. It took the prize at the carvers exhibition last year; in the department of young persons, be it understood. He was offered much money for it, but no! it was for me, he said, the good child! I value it highly, mademoiselle.