But, as he said to himself; some things were to
be seen but once in the great game, and it was worth while seeing them,
even if life were the shorter for it.
On up the heights filed the strange procession until at last it came to
Dalgrothe Mountain. On one of the foot-hills stood the Rock of Red
Pigeons. This was the dwarf's secret resort, where no one ever disturbed
him; for the Little Good Folk of the Scarlet Hills (of whom it was
rumoured, he had come) held revel there, and people did not venture
rashly. The land about it, and a hut farther down the hill, belonged to
Parpon; a legacy from the father of the young Seigneur.
It was all hills, gorges, rivers, and idle, murmuring pines. Of a
morning, mist floated into mist as far as eye could see, blue and grey
and amethyst, a glamour of tints and velvety radiance. The great hills
waved into each other like a vast violet sea, and, in turn, the tiny
earth-waves on each separate hill swelled into the larger harmony. At the
foot of a steep precipice was the whirlpool from which Parpon, at great
risk, had rescued the father of De la Riviere, and had received this
lonely region as his reward.
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