to say a stone baby—was undertaken. A large red handkerchief was then produced, and the baby was decorously draped in this becoming and festive attire. These duties finished, we partly scrambled and partly slid back on to the big platform, and proceeded to enjoy ourselves, feeling that our work was over, our summit won, and that we might revel in the warm sunshine and glorious view.
That night my dreams were troubled by visions of a great square tower—the great square tower that at the other end of the summit ridge had thrust its shoulders above the snows of the Col du Géant, and though the men had stoutly maintained that our peak was highest, I felt that the delights of an untroubled mind and a conscience void of offence must be for ever abandoned if up that tower I did not go. After breakfast, I sought for Burgener, but I found that he was invisible, an essential portion of his clothing being so terribly damaged that the protracted exertions of the local tailor were requisite to his public appearance. However, in response to my urgent entreaties, Venetz retired to bed, and Burgener emerged resplendent in the latter's garments.
It turned out that Burgener had to be in Martigny the next morning but one, so, to give him time on our return from the Grépon to drive over the Tête Noire, we resolved to go up to Blaitière-dessous that evening and make an early start.
