After asking his way, Davos passed the swimming
baths, and keeping on the left bank of a tiny stream, he presently found
himself walking through an earthly paradise. Since his advent in Ischl,
where he drank the waters and endeavoured to quiet his overtaxed nerves,
he had made up his mind to visit Alt-Aussee; several Viennese friends
had assured him that this hamlet, beneath a terrific precipice and on
the borders of a fairy-like lake, would be well worth the while.
It was a relief to breathe the thinner mountain air, and the young
artist inhaled it with satisfaction, his big hat in hand, his long curly
black hair flowing in the gentle breeze. He found himself in tunnels of
verdure, the sunlight shut off by the heavy leafage; then the path
debouched into the open and, skirting closely the rocky wall, it widened
into an island of green where a shady pagoda invited. He sat down for a
few minutes and congratulated himself that he had escaped the intimate
discomforts of the omnibus he discerned on the opposite bank, packed
with stout people.
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