Across the lake, at Brienz, Monday morning, a carriage waited to bear us on, over the Brunig Pass, into the clouds and out again; then down, down, past village, and lake, and towering hills, resting again at Sarnen, then on to Lucerne, into which we swept, with tinkling bells and cracking whip, to find the city gay with streaming flags and flowery arches, erected for some singing _fête_, but which to us were all signs of a happy welcoming.
Coming home.--The breaking up of the party.--We start for Paris alone.--Basle, and a search for a hotel.--The twilight ride.--The shopkeeper whose wits had gone "a wool-gathering."--"Two tickets for Paris."--What can be the matter now?--'Michel Angelo's Moses.--Paris at midnight.--The kind _commissionaire_.--The good French gentleman, and his fussy little wife.--A search for Miss H.'s.--"Come up, come up."--"Can women travel through Europe alone?"--A word about a woman's outfit.
TO dash through the town, along the quay where we had walked so many times beneath the trees or leaning over the low parapet fed the fishes, past the two-spired cathedral, the cloisters of which had become so familiar, to mount the hill and draw up before the door of the Bellevue again, welcomed by the innkeeper, and greeted with outstretched hands by "Charles," who had served our chocolate, while familiar faces met us at every window or upon the stairs, to pull up the shutters, throw wide open the windows, and drink in the glorious beauty of the scene before our eyes--all this was delightful, but fleeting, like all earthly joys, and mixed with pain; for here we were to say "good by."
Our pleasant party was to break up. The friends in whose care we had been so long, were off for Germany, and Mrs. K. and I must turn our faces towards home. We were to renew our early and brief experience in travelling alone. It had been as limited as our French, which consisted principally of "_Est-ce que vous avez?_" followed by a pantomimic display that would have done credit to a professional, and "_Quel est le prix?_" succeeded by the blankest amazement, since we could seldom, if ever, understand a reply.
"No; O, no." The state of our minds transcended fear.
It was a hot day when we took our last view of the lake, as we rode down the hill from the hotel, past the cathedral, past the shaded promenade upon the quay, to the station; but we heeded neither the heat nor the landscape when we were once in the train and on the way. Our hearts were heavy with grief at parting from friends, our spirits weighed down by nameless fears. It was a wicked world, we suddenly remembered. Wolves in sheep's clothing doubtless awaited us at every turn. Roaring lions guarded every station. We clutched our travelling-bags, umbrellas, and wraps, with a grasp only attained by grim fate or lone women. Gradually, however, as the uneventful hours wore away, we forgot that in eternal vigilance lay our safety, and relaxed our hold.