the
dripping of the snow from the roof as it melted with the warmth; in the
great gusts of wind, shaking everything, cracking the boards, fluttering
the flame of the lamp, and falling abruptly into vast, unnatural
silence, like the end of the world.

They had just finished dinner when heavy steps upon the ringing path
and voices were heard approaching. Violent blows with the butt end of
some weapon shook the door. Tartarin, greatly excited, looked at his
guides... A nocturnal attack on these heights!.. The blows redoubled.
"Who goes there?" cried the hero, jumping for his ice-axe; but already
the hut was invaded by two gigantic Yankees, in white linen masks, their
clothing soaked with snow and sweat, and behind them guides, porters, a
whole caravan, on its return from ascending the Jungfrau.

"You are welcome, milords," said Tartarin, with a liberal, dispensing
gesture, of which the milords showed not the slightest need in making
themselves free of everything. In a trice the table was surrounded, the
dishes removed, the bowls and spoons rinsed in hot water for the use of
the new arrivals (according to established custom in Alpine huts); the
boots of the milords smoked before the stove, while they themselves,
bare-footed, their feet wrapped in straw, were sprawling at their ease
before a fresh onion soup.

Father and son, these two Americans; two red-haired giants, with heads
of pioneers, hard and self-reliant. One of them, the elder, had two
dilated eyes, almost white, in a bloated, sun-burned, fissured face,
and presently, by the hesitating way in which he groped for his bowl and
spoon, and the care with which his son looked after him, Tartarin became
aware that this was the famous blind Alpinist of whom he had been told,
not believing the tale, at the Hotel Bellevue; a celebrated climber in
his youth, who now, in spite of his sixty years and his infirmity,
was going over with his son the scenes of his former exploits. He had
already done the Wetterhorn and the Jungfrau, and was intending to
attack the Matterhorn and the Mont Blanc, declaring that the air
upon summits, that glacial breath with its taste of snow, caused him
inexpressible joy, and a perfect recall of his lost vigour.

"_Differemment_," asked Tartarin of one of the porters, for the Yankees
were not communicative, and answered only by a "yes" or a "no" to all
his advances "_differemment_ inasmuch as he can't see, how does he
manage at the dangerous pl