By 2.20 we rejoined our boots, and ideas of table d'hôte began to replace those of a more poetic type. We rattled down the rocks, and raced across the glacier in a way that, we subsequently learnt, created much astonishment in the minds of sundry friends at the opposite end of M. Couttet's telescope. The further we got the faster we went, for the seracs that looked unpleasant in the morning now lurched over our heads in a way that made Burgener's "schnell, nur schnell," almost lift one off one's feet. After the usual habit of séracs they lurched and staggered, but did not fall, and we got down to the lower glacier much out of breath, but otherwise uninjured. Reaching the neighbourhood of our lantern we sought diligently but found it not, so we made for a châlet Burgener know of.
We found the fair proprietress feeding pigs. She brought us milk, and, though of unexceptionable quality, the more fastidious members of the party would have liked it better had not some of the numerous denizens of her abode and person previously sought euthanasia in the flowing bowl.
Happily the zigzags did not take long to unwind, and at 6.30 p.m. we were warmly welcomed by Monsieur and Madame Couttet and much excellent champagne.
