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which Chayne so well remembered, he saw in front of him a little man
with bowed shoulders, red-rimmed eyes, and a withered face seamed with
tiny wrinkles.

At this moment, however, Michel's pleasure at once more seeing his old
patron gave to him at all events some look of his former alertness, and
as the two men shook hands he cried:

"Monsieur, but I am glad to see you! You have been too long away from
Chamonix. But you have not changed. No, you have not changed."

In his voice there was without doubt a note of wistfulness. "I would I
could say as much for myself." That regret was as audible to Chayne as
though it had been uttered. But he closed his ears to it. He began to
talk eagerly of his plans. There were familiar peaks to be climbed again
and some new expeditions to be attempted.

"I thought we might try a new route up the Aiguille sans Nom," he
suggested, and Michel assented but slowly, without the old heartiness and
without that light in his face which the suggestion of something new used
always to kindle. But again Chayne shut his ears.

"I was very lucky to find you here," he went on cheerily. "I wrote so


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