The cart, meantime, had approached the fatal tree. By this time Capes’ hair had bleached nearly white, and his skin had become a skin of red copper shot with gold. She had pushed aside her azure veil, taken off her snow-glasses, and sat smiling under her hand at the shining glories—the lit cornices, the blue shadows, the softly rounded, enormous snow masses, the deep places full of quivering luminosity—of the Taschhorn and Dom. “I should like to speak to you for a few minutes,” he said to Anna, dropping his voice a little. ’ ‘Indeed?’ Gerald said politely. He, however, made no remark at the time, but instantly prepared to set out.
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