A note of belligerency had crept into his tone. There was no railway beyond Frutigen in those days; they sent their baggage by post to Kandersteg, and walked along the mule path to the left of the stream to that queer hollow among the precipices, Blau See, where the petrifying branches of trees lie in the blue deeps of an icy lake, and pine-trees clamber among gigantic boulders. "What have you seen?" inquired Lady Trafford. She went about the gory business of disposing of the bodies, cutting them up with a large butcher knife and packing the light dry pieces of their bloodless remains in a double ply garbage bag, pieces that looked like overcooked, ruined meat. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. One only. It is not at all comme il faut. She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. I dared not sing, I dared not laugh, except when you went away. . .
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