Diablerets, I took my pilgrim-staff, otherwise, my little parasol, in hand, and, accompanied by my new lady friends, took my way to La Comballez. There we parted; but the grateful remembrance of two of those amiable ladies will never leave me.
In company of a pretty, but impish, ten-year-old, countrified Sylvie, I continued my way to Chateau-d'Œx, the whole way being on the soft grass of the high plain “Des Mosses;” and nowhere have I seen so beautiful and fine a species of grass, playing and waving in the wind like a thin gauze of smoke. The plain looked both rich and gay.
I still could see, behind me, the Savoyard Alps, and their cool shadows stretching refreshingly across the sun-lit plain.
After walking over the plain for more than two hours, I was both hungry and weary, and I imagined that my little Sylvie was the same. And see, just here, close to the road, stands a cottage, from which some men, who have been carrying hay, are coming, whilst a woman, with a good housewifely countenance, stands at the door. I ask her if she can give me something for dinner. She does not know, she replies, whether she has any thing that I can eat. “Have you eggs?” “No.” “Potatoes?” “Yes, but not cooked.” “Milk?” “Yes.” “Bread and butter?” “Yes.” Excellent! Then we have all that we need.
We go into the neat, cool cottage, where a fat little lad is asleep in his cradle, watched over by a pretty little Julie. The young mother spreads a snow-white cloth upon the table, and brings forth good bread, remarkably good milk, and other things, excellent
