“One day,” he resumed, “we will start off early and come down into Kandersteg and up these zigzags and here and here, and so past this Daubensee to a tiny inn—it won’t be busy yet, though; we may get it all to ourselves—on the brim of the steepest zigzag you can imagine, thousands of feet of zigzag; and you will sit and eat lunch with me and look out across the Rhone Valley and over blue distances beyond blue distances to the Matterhorn and Monte Rosa and a long regiment of sunny, snowy mountains. His initial nervousness had already abated, and it took some valour to allow himself to become embroiled in Melusine’s crazy schemes. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers.
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