treadmill. And then they went out for a walk, which was very slow and
tedious. Two steps forward and one backwards had Rudy to take to keep
pace with the others. They walked down to Chillon, and went over the old
castle on the rocky island. They saw the implements of torture, the deadly
dungeons, the rusty fetters in the rocky walls, the stone benches for those
condemned to death, the trap-doors through which the unhappy creatures
were hurled upon iron spikes, and impaled alive. They called looking at all
these a pleasure. It certainly was the right place to visit. Byron’s poetry had
made it celebrated in the world. Rudy could only feel that it was a place of
execution. He leaned against the stone framework of the window, and gazed
down into the deep, blue water, and over to the little island with the three
acacias, and wished himself there, away and free from the whole chattering
party. But Babette was most unusually lively and good-tempered.
“I have been so amused,” she said.
The cousin had found her quite perfect.
“He is a perfect fop,” said Rudy; and this was the first time Rudy had
said anything that did not please Babette.
The Englishman had made her a present of a little book, in remembrance
of their visit to Chillon. It was Byron’s poem, “The Prisoner of Chillon,”
translated into French, so that Babette could read it.
“The book may be very good,” said Rudy; “but that finely combed fellow
who gave it to you is not worth much.”
“He looks something like a flour-sack without any flour,” said the miller,
laughing at his own wit. Rudy laughed, too, for so had he appeared to him.
XI. The Cousin
When Rudy went a few days after to pay a visit to the mill, he found the
young Englishman there. Babette was just thinking of preparing some trout
to set before him. She understood well how to garnish the dish with parsley,
and make it look quite tempting. Rudy thought all this quite unnecessary.
What did the Englishman want there? What was he about? Why should he
