The air of the Engadine and the waters that tasted like ink had worked marvels: in a week M.Moriaz felt like a new man.

There had come to him a most formidable appetite, and he could walk for hours at a time without becoming weary.

He abused his growing strength by constantly strolling through the mountains without a guide, hammer in hand; and every day, in spite of the remonstrances of his daughter, he increased the length of his excursions.

The more people know, the more inquisitive they become; and, when one is inquisitive, one can go to great lengths without feeling fatigue; one only becomes conscious of this after the exertion is over.

M.Moriaz never for a moment suspected that he was accompanied, at a respectful distance, on these solitary expeditions, by a stranger, who, with eyes and ears both on the alert, watched over him like a providence.