There was no railway beyond Frutigen in those days; they sent their baggage by post to Kandersteg, and walked along the mule path to the left of the stream to that queer hollow among the precipices, Blau See, where the petrifying branches of trees lie in the blue deeps of an icy lake, and pine-trees clamber among gigantic boulders. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. “I admired your sister in Paris,” he answered, “but I do not believe that I regard her now as altogether the same person. ’ ‘We had other matters on hand this morning,’ Roding told him sharply.
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