When
it appears that a guide has probably made a mistake, the only plan is to
assume quietly that it is so, as if it were a matter of no consequence,
and then he may sometimes be decoyed into allowing the fact: I therefore
pointed out to the maire the true Col, and told him that was the one by
which he had passed southwards, when he found the glaciere; to which,
with unnecessary strength of language, he at once assented. But all my
efforts to take him back were unavailing. Nothing in the world should
carry him up the mountain again, now that he had happily got so far
down. I worked his best and his worst feelings with equal want of
success; even national jealousy failed, and he was content to know that
a French maire had not pluck to face three-quarters of an hour of
climbing, when an English priest was ready to lead the way. The
schoolmaster declined to go alone with me, on the ground that neither of
us knew the mountain, and threatening clouds were gathering all around.
When, at last, I proposed to go by myself, they became menacingly
obstructive, and declared that I should certainly not be allowed to
face the intricacy of the mountain in a fog.
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