e ground among
puddles of water in which was reflected a copper-coloured sun.

Tartarin inquired for his man. They told him he was dining. "Then take
me to him, _zou!_" and this was said with such authority that in
spite of the respectful repugnance shown to disturbing so important
a personage, a maid-servant conducted the Alpinist through the whole
hotel, where his advent created some amazement, to the invaluable
courier who was dining alone in a little room that looked upon the
court-yard.

"Monsieur," said Tartarin as he entered, his ice-axe on his shoulder,
"excuse me if..."

He stopped stupefied, and the courier, tall, lank, his napkin at his
chin, in the savoury steam of a plateful of hot soup, let fall his
spoon.

"_Ve!_ Monsieur Tartarin..."

"_Te!_ Bompard."

It was Bompard, former manager of the Club, a good fellow, but afflicted
with a fabulous imagination which rendered him incapable of telling
a word of truth, and had caused him to be nicknamed in Tarascon "The
Impostor."

Called an impostor in Tarascon! you can judge what he must have been.
And this was the incomparable guide, the climber of the Alps, the
Himalayas, the Mountains of the Moon.

"Oh! now, then, I understand," ejaculated Tartarin, rather nonplussed;
but, even so, joyful to see a face from home and to hear once more that
dear, delicious accent of the Cours.

"_Differemment_, Monsieur Tartarin, you 'll dine with me, _que?_"

Tartarin hastened to accept, delighted at the pleasure of sitting down
at a private table opposite to a friend, without the very smallest
litigious compote-dish between them, to be able to hobnob, to talk as
he ate, and to eat good things, carefully cooked and fresh; for couriers
are admirably treated by innkeepers, and served apart with all the best
wines and the extra dainties.

Many were the _au mouains, pas mouains_, and _differemments_.

"Then, my dear fellow, it was really you I heard last night, up there,
on the platform?.."

"Hey! _parfaitemain_... I was making those young ladies admire... Fine,
isn't it, sunrise on the Alps?"

"Superb!" cried Tartarin, at first without conviction and merely to
avoid contradicting him, but caught the next minute; and after that it
was really bewildering to hear those two Tarasconese enthusiasts
lauding the splendours they had found on the Rigi. It was Joanne capping
Baedeker.

Then, as the meal went on, the conversation became more intimate, full
of confidences