He stooped down, took the sweater from round her waist and put her into it.
"Now, come on—you must have some hot milk to drink, or you may be a little dizzy. People often are, getting up here."
"Dizzy? No, I am only drunk with this air!"
But warned by a slight beating in her ears and temples, she got up and they rounded the corner into the plateau of Barmaz, dotted with cows and a few small chalets. A charging troop of cows drove them off the path. Crayven caught Teresa with one arm and swept her up on a hillock, and the cows tore past, their heads down, their tails in the air, their huge bodies gambolling wildly. Teresa shrieked with laughter.
"That's exactly how I feel!" she cried. "Now I know how a Swiss would look, if he ever enjoyed himself! But he doesn't—it's only the cows that are sensitive to the skyey influences!"
Crayven took her hand and led her down, still laughing, to the chalet which promised "Bon repos"; and ordered hot milk and lunch on the veranda.
"If it isn't too cold for you out here," he added.
"Not a bit—it's perfect," said Teresa promptly, establishing herself at a table.
But the waitress, with sloe-black, keen eyes under her scarlet head-dress, enquired if a room
