306 ELIZABETH GARY AGASSIZ 



before the door of a chalet and asked leave of the mis- 

 tress who was standing outside to rest a little there. 

 She led me along the shaky floor of one of those 

 low-roofed balconies so characteristic of mountain 

 chalets, offered me a rough seat (which at the moment 

 was as delicious as a stuffed arm-chair), and brought 

 me a cup of milk. I drank a little and then put it 

 down simply because I did not think it wise, heated 

 as I was, to drink the whole at once. Evidently 

 she thought I found the cup too coarse, for she took 

 it up (I was dreadfully afraid she was going to take 

 it away) and brought the milk back in a little glass 

 tumbler, to my great relief not that I minded 

 the cup, but I was very loath to relinquish the 

 milk. While I sipped it she sat down on the door 

 sill and sewed. Her work consisted in embroidering 

 the most hideous coarse bags, one of which I bought 

 to show my gratitude for her hospitality, and my 

 sympathy with her poverty. She took me into her 

 little home, where she lived, so far as I could make 

 out, with an only child, a boy of seven or eight. To 

 make my story what it should be, that home ought 

 to have been as neat as it was ill-supplied with the 

 necessities of life. Truth compels me to state that 

 its dirt equalled its poverty. But the misery was 

 unmistakable and so, ugly as it was, I was glad to buy 

 my bag as an excuse for giving her a little lift out 

 of her difficulties by paying more than her work was 

 worth. 



On the afternoon of the same day we drove to a 

 superb view, called the Belvedere, to see the sunset 



