Simond, Hastings deposited the knapsack on the turf and we adopted those attitudes most conducive to rest and comfort. Two of the party, however, soon discovered that their ascent of a watercourse had made them too wet for a prolonged indulgence in repose. Collie, from amongst the wreathing pleasure of tobacco, protested in vain. We were deaf to his assertions that the chief delight of mountaineering is to be found in the skilfully selected halt; that the great dome of the Gouter, whitest snow above purple valley, the jagged crest of the Charmoz, the ice cliffs of the Plan with their piled-up memories of scorching sun and bitter night, were worthy of a longer halt. But we were obdurate, and, turning to the hill, we scrambled up amongst the pines and crags. A pleasant ramble brought us, some hours later, to the châlet inn of L'Ognan.
Sitting in the sun, we drank deep draughts of milk, thus recalling those far-off years when a long pull out of great wooden bowls constituted no inconsiderable part of the climber's food. A cross-examination of our hostess having elicited comforting assurances relative to the possibilities of dinner, we gave ourselves up to the contemplation of the shining sun and the knotted ridges of the Buet. Gradually the harder lines and sharper contrasts were softened and etherealised by those vague mists and wondrous visions that ever hover on the
