as if it bore upon its breast both sun and snow.

On leaving the village Bompard rode his mule beside that of the
president, and said to the latter; rolling his eyes in a most
extraordinary manner: "Tartarin, I _must_ speak to you..."

"Presently..." said the P. C. A., then engaged in a philosophical
discussion with the young Swede, whose black pessimism he was
endeavouring to correct by the marvellous spectacle around them, those
pastures with great zones of light and shade, those forests of sombre
green crested with the whiteness of the dazzling _neves_.

After two attempts to speak to the president, Bompard was forced to give
it up. The Arve having been crossed by a little bridge, the caravan
now entered one of those narrow, zigzag roads among the firs where
the mules, one by one, follow with their fantastic sabots all the
sinuosities of the ravines, and our tourists had their attention fully
occupied in keeping their equilibrium by the help of many an "_Outre!..
Boufre!_.. gently, gently!.." with which they guided their beasts.

At the chalet of the Pierre-Pointue, where Pas-calon and Excourbanies
were to wait the return of the excursionists, Tartarin, much occupied in
ordering breakfast and in looking after porters and guides, still paid
no attention to Bompard's whisperings. But--singular fact, which was not
remarked until later--in spite of the fine weather, the good wine,
and that purified atmosphere of ten thousand feet above sea-level,
the breakfast was melancholy. While they heard the guides laughing and
making merry apart, the table of the Taras-conese was silent except for
the rattle of glasses and the clatter of the heavy plates and covers on
the white wood. Was it the presence of that morose Swede, or the visible
uneasiness of Bompard, or some presentiment? At any rate, the party set
forth, sad as a battalion without its band, towards the glacier of the
Bossons, where the true ascent begins.

On setting foot upon the ice, Tartarin could not help smiling at the
recollection of the Guggi and his perfected crampons. What a difference
between the neophyte he then was and the first-class Alpinist he felt he
had become! Steady on his heavy boots, which the porter of the hotel had
ironed that very morning with four stout nails, expert in wielding
his ice-axe, he scarcely needed the hand of a guide, and then less to
support him than to show him the way. The smoked glasses moderated the
reflections of the gla