“Well, my good fellow, what the lions, what the Krupp cannon could never do, the Alps have accomplished... I am afraid.”
“Don’t say that, Tartarin!”
“Why not?” said the hero, with great gentleness... “I say it, because it is so...”
And tranquilly, without posing, he acknowledged the impression made upon him by Doré’s drawing of that catastrophe on the Matterhorn, which was ever before his eyes. He feared those perils, and being told of an extraordinary guide, capable of avoiding them, he resolved to seek him out and confide in him.
Then, in a tone more natural, he added: “You have never been a guide, have you, Gonzague?”
“Hé! yes,” replied Bompard, smiling... “Only, I never did all that I related.”
“That’s understood,” assented Tartarin.
And the other added in a whisper:—
“Let us go out on the road; we can talk more freely there.”
It was getting dark; a warm damp breeze was rolling up black clouds upon the sky, where the setting sun had left behind it a vague gray mist.