Yet it took the sun from earliest dawn almost to
the last beam of midsummer daylight. Behind it a pine forest climbed
to the snow; and up and across the snow a corniced path traversed the
face of the mountain and joined the _diligence_-road a little below
the summit of the pass. At the point of junction stood a small
chapel, with a dwelling-room attached, where lived a brother from the
Benedictine _hospice_ on the far side of the pass. His name was
Brother Polifilo, and it was supposed that he had fallen in love with
solitude (else how could he have endured to live in such a place?);
yet his smile justified his name, and his manner of playing with the
children when he descended to bring us the consolations of religion--
which he did by arrangement with the infirm parish priest in the
valley. Also, on fine mornings when the snow held and the little
ones could be trusted along the path, the entire household of the
Bavarelli would troop up to Mass in his tiny chapel.
For me, it was many weeks before my sick brain allowed me to climb
beyond the pines; and many weeks, though the Princess always went
with me--before she told me all the story of what had happened in
Genoa.
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