Moriaz, mortally disquieted at the prolonged absence of her father, had sent in quest of him.

Pale with emotion, trembling in every fibre, she had seated herself on the bank of a stream.

She was completely a prey to terror, and in her imagination plainly saw her father lying half dead at the bottom of some precipice or rocky crevasse.

On perceiving him she uttered a cry of joy and ran to meet him.
"Ah! truly, my love," said he, "I have been more fortunate than wise.
And I shall have to ask my deliverer his name in order to present him to you." Count Abel appeared not to have heard these last words.

He stammered out something about M.Moriaz having exaggerated the worth of the little service it had been his good fortune to render him, and then with a cold, formal, dignified air, he bowed to Antoinette and moved hurriedly away, as a man who cares little to make new acquaintances, and who longs to get back to his solitude.
He was already at some distance when M.Moriaz, who had been busily recounting his adventures to his daughter, bethought him that he had kept his deliverer's overcoat.