relief. “Sorry—I almost ran into you!” He doesn’t reply right away, but good-humoredly, even raptly, gazes at her glowing in front of him with wind-frozen cheeks, her chest rising and falling, still full of energy. All he does is smile broadly, captivated by this vision of youth and vigor. At last he speaks. “Well done! That’s what I call a good clip. I’d like to see any professional mountain guide do that. But …” (he looks at her again, considering and smiling again with approval) “… if my neck were so young and fresh-looking, I’d look outI didn’t break it. You’re damn well not taking care of yourself! Good thing it was just me who saw you and not your aunt. And mainly, you shouldn’t be taking this kind of morning excursion by yourself. If you ever need somebody along who’s in fair-to -middling shape, yours truly is warmly recommended.” He looks at her once more and she feels herself becoming embarrassed by the surge of unexpected interest in his eyes. Never in her life has a man looked at her so admiringly; she tingles with new pleasure. She shows him the bouquet to shake off the embarrassment. “Look what I got! Fresh-picked, aren’t they wonderful?” “Yes, wonderful,” he replies in a tense voice, ignoring the flowers and looking into her eyes. These insistent, almost intrusive attentions are even more embarrassing. “Forgive me, I have to go to breakfast now,” she offers, “I’m probably late already,” and tries to move past. He bows and steps aside, but she feels instinctively that he’s following her with his eyes and tenses up unconsciously as she moves away. Her surprise that a man might feel so strongly about her, might find her beautiful and perhaps even desire her, enters her blood like the fragrance of the wildflowers and the invigorating bite in the air.
Intoxication surges in her again as she enters the lobby. It seems stuffy here now; everything is too close, too heavy. She tosses hat, sweater, belt, whatever is confining and oppressive, into the wardrobe, and wishes she could tear the clothes off her tingling skin. The two older people at the breakfast table look up in surprise as she approaches, her step light, cheeks glow-ing, nostrils quivering, somehow taller, healthier, sleeker than yesterday. She lays the bunch of wildflowers, still moist with dew and glinting with melting ice crystals, in front of her aunt: “I picked them up on … I don’t know the name of the mountain, but I went up there, oh” (she takes a deep breath) “it was wonderful.” Her aunt looks at her with admiration. “What a glutton for punishment you are! Out of bed and straight up into the mountains without breakfast. The likes of us oughtto follow your example. Better than any massage, I’m sure. Anthony, just look at her though, she’s transformed. Look what the fresh air has done to her cheeks. You’re glowing, child! But tell us where you got this.” Christine tells them, unaware how quickly and hungrily she’s eating and how much. Butter, jam, and honey vanish at a tremendous rate; the amused old gentleman beckons to the waiter, who smiles slightly as he refills the basket with croissants. She’s too carried away to notice her aunt and uncle smiling more and more broadly at her unseemly appetite, only feels the pleasant burning in her cheeks as they begin to thaw. She’s relaxed now and leans back in the wicker chair, eating, talking, and laughing gaily; further encouraged by the kind faces of her aunt and uncle and ignoring the astonishment of people around them, she spreads her arms wide in the middle of her story and her elation bursts out of her: “Oh, Aunt, I never knew what it was to really breathe.”
The floodgates have been opened. At ten she’s still at the breakfast table. The breadbasket is empty. Her appetite, stimulated by the high altitude, has cleaned it out. General Elkins appears in his stylish sportswear to remind her of the planned drive. Walking
Intoxication surges in her again as she enters the lobby. It seems stuffy here now; everything is too close, too heavy. She tosses hat, sweater, belt, whatever is confining and oppressive, into the wardrobe, and wishes she could tear the clothes off her tingling skin. The two older people at the breakfast table look up in surprise as she approaches, her step light, cheeks glow-ing, nostrils quivering, somehow taller, healthier, sleeker than yesterday. She lays the bunch of wildflowers, still moist with dew and glinting with melting ice crystals, in front of her aunt: “I picked them up on … I don’t know the name of the mountain, but I went up there, oh” (she takes a deep breath) “it was wonderful.” Her aunt looks at her with admiration. “What a glutton for punishment you are! Out of bed and straight up into the mountains without breakfast. The likes of us oughtto follow your example. Better than any massage, I’m sure. Anthony, just look at her though, she’s transformed. Look what the fresh air has done to her cheeks. You’re glowing, child! But tell us where you got this.” Christine tells them, unaware how quickly and hungrily she’s eating and how much. Butter, jam, and honey vanish at a tremendous rate; the amused old gentleman beckons to the waiter, who smiles slightly as he refills the basket with croissants. She’s too carried away to notice her aunt and uncle smiling more and more broadly at her unseemly appetite, only feels the pleasant burning in her cheeks as they begin to thaw. She’s relaxed now and leans back in the wicker chair, eating, talking, and laughing gaily; further encouraged by the kind faces of her aunt and uncle and ignoring the astonishment of people around them, she spreads her arms wide in the middle of her story and her elation bursts out of her: “Oh, Aunt, I never knew what it was to really breathe.”
The floodgates have been opened. At ten she’s still at the breakfast table. The breadbasket is empty. Her appetite, stimulated by the high altitude, has cleaned it out. General Elkins appears in his stylish sportswear to remind her of the planned drive. Walking
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