Farther up the hill the door of a little chapel stood invitingly open, waiting for stray worshippers, or a chance-burdened heart (for even so far away as Brieg, hearts do grow heavy, I doubt not). Something in its narrow, whitewashed poverty touched our sympathies. It is rare indeed in these countries to find a chapel without at least some votive offering to make it beautiful in the eyes of the simple people: here was only a crucifix, and we pleased ourselves with the fancy that when the ships come in that we sent out as children--laden with hopes that were to be bartered for treasures--we would return, and hang the walls with pictures, and make the whole place wonderful in the eyes that had seen only its bareness. The shower the night before had laid the dust, and the drive that morning was most enjoyable. Following the course of the noisy Rhone, we reached Sierre at noon, where we left the carriages with regret, and took the railway train to Martigny.
The quaint inn.--The Falls of the Sallenches, and the Gorge de Trient.--Shopping in a Swiss village.--A mule ride to Chamouni.--Peculiarities of the animals.--Entrance to the village.--Egyptian mummies lifted from the mules.--Rainy days.--Chamois.--The Mer de Glace.--"Look out of your window."--Mont Blanc.--Sallenches.--A diligence ride to Geneva.--Our little old woman.--The clownish peasant.--The fork in the road.--"Adieu."
OUR hotel here at Martigny, was even more suggestive of romance than the one at Brieg. It had been a monastery, and was an old, yellow-washed structure facing the street, with a rambling garden surrounded by high walls, clinging to it in the rear. Low, dark rooms, with bare, unpainted floors, like the waves of the sea in smoothness, were given to some of our party, while Mrs. K. and I were consigned again, with singular appropriateness, to what had been the chapel. Its windows overlooked the straggling, half-dead trees, and bare, hard-baked earth of the open space before the door, which was always being crossed by strings of mules ornamented with bright saddle-cloths, and still further with the ubiquitous tourist arrayed in every known costume of the period. Village girls, too, passed under the trees, knitting as they went, and horrible creatures afflicted with the _goître_--that curse of this region--which we met at every turn now.