slip out. It was therefore soon known that Rudy, so brave and so good as he
was, had kissed some one while dancing, and yet he had never kissed her
who was dearest to him.
“Ah, ah,” said an old hunter, “he has kissed Annette, has he? he has
begun with A, and I suppose he will kiss through the whole alphabet.”
But a kiss in the dance was all the busy tongues could accuse him of. He
certainly had kissed Annette, but she was not the flower of his heart.
Down in the valley, near Bex, among the great walnut-trees, by the side
of a little rushing mountain-stream, lived a rich miller. His dwelling-house
was a large building, three storeys high, with little turrets. The roof was
covered with chips, bound together with tin plates, that glittered in sunshine
and in the moonlight. The largest of the turrets had a weather-cock,
representing an apple pierced by a glittering arrow, in memory of William
Tell. The mill was a neat and well-ordered place, that allowed itself to be
sketched and written about; but the miller’s daughter did not permit any to
sketch or write about her. So, at least, Rudy would have said, for her image
was pictured in his heart; her eyes shone in it so brightly, that quite a flame
had been kindled there; and, like all other fires, it had burst forth so
suddenly, that the miller’s daughter, the beautiful Babette, was quite
unaware of it. Rudy had never spoken a word to her on the subject. The
miller was rich, and, on that account, Babette stood very high, and was
rather difficult to aspire to. But said Rudy to himself, “Nothing is too high
for a man to reach: he must climb with confidence in himself, and he will
not fail.” He had learnt this lesson in his youthful home.
It happened once that Rudy had some business to settle at Bex. It was a
long journey at that time, for the railway had not been opened. From the
glaciers of the Rhone, at the foot of the Simplon, between its ever-changing
mountain summits, stretches the valley of the canton Valais. Through it runs
the noble river of the Rhone, which often overflows its banks, covering
fields and highways, and destroying everything in its course. Near the
towns of Sion and St. Maurice, the valley takes a turn, and bends like an
elbow, and behind St. Maurice becomes so narrow that there is only space
