A restless dread haunted him.

He knew well that there are in every one little personal traits, tricks of gesture, and certain tones of voice always ready to betray us.

It was yet too early in the year for many travellers to be journeying to Switzerland; but already a few straggling pioneers of the summer flight were appearing in the larger towns, and what would be his fate if any one of them recognized him?
He quitted Geneva, and wandered away into the mountain villages.
It was May-time, and the snow-line was still lingering low down on the steep slopes, though the flowers were springing into life up to its very margin, seeming to drive it higher and higher every day.

The High Alps were still fast locked in midwinter, and with untrodden wastes and plains of snow lying all around them.

The deserted mountain farms and great solitary hotels, so thronged last summer, were empty.