Safely arrived in the neighbourhood of the knapsack, we "lay beside our nectar" till such time as the nectar was consumed. We subsequently raced down to the breakfasting rocks, descended to the lower glacier, and finally got back to the Montenvers about 6 p.m. Kind friends, who saw our approach, welcomed us with a vast pot—the pride and joy of the Montenvers Hotel—full of tea, and under its stimulating influence the crags became steeper and more terrible, until it seemed incredible that mere mortals could have faced such awful difficulties and perils.
A year later I was again at the Montenvers, and was taught the great truth that in mountaineering, as in all the other varied afiairs of life, "l'homme propose mais femme dispose," and consequently a desperate assault on the Aig du Plan, that we had been contemplating for a week or more, had to give place to yet another ascent of the Grépon.
The horrors of the valley of stones on a dark night were vainly conjured in their most hideous form. The utmost concession that aged limbs could obtain was permission to gîte high on the rocks above the lower fall of the Nantillon Glacier. I am aware that youthful climbers scorn gîtes, and regard a night spent in plunging head first into deep and gruesome holes as an excellent restorative previous to a difficult ascent. With this view
