continuance of this festivity, Burgener and Gentinetta vied with each other in extolling the weather wisdom of their Herr. Petrus was called upon to bear witness to* its utterly uncompromising appearance in the morning, and, not content with his testimony, the absent Imseng was added to my triumph: for had he not also given it up as hopeless? "Yet their Herr had never faltered in his confidence"—little did they guess my feelings during the afternoon—"and had consistently borne true witness in the face of an adverse host." Subsequent experience has been quite thrown away on Burgener; he still regards me as of transcendent merit in this branch of the climber's craft. When, as usually happens, facts do not agree with my forecast, he, like the celebrated French scientist, is inclined to exclaim: "Tant pis pour les faits."
The night proved intensely cold. The clouds had prevented any sunshine reaching the plateau, and the small pools of water and patches of snow, even when we first reached it, were still hard frozen from the previous night's frost. These icy rocks below and a keen north wind above seemed to freeze us to the very marrow, and we shivered with the pain of cold under our scanty rugs. We were all glad when it was time to be moving, and at the first hint of dawn (4.15 a.m.) we began to scramble up the rocks and along the ridge leading towards the snow arête. At 5.20 a.m. we reached its foot, and
