The delegates looked at one another. As a tarasconade that remark surpassed them all.
“Oh, that Bompard, pas mouain...” murmured Pascalon, with ingenuous admiration.
But père Baltet, taking Chimborazo seriously, protested against the practice of not roping. According to him, no ascension over ice was possible without a rope, a good rope of Manila hemp; then, if one slipped, the others could hold him.
“Unless the rope breaks, Monsieur Baltet,” said Tartarin, remembering the catastrophe on the Matterhorn.
But the landlord, weighing his words, replied:
“The rope did not break on the Matterhorn... the rear guide cut it with a blow of his axe...”
As Tartarin expressed indignation,—
“Beg pardon, monsieur, but the guide had a right to do it... He saw the impossibility of holding back those who had fallen, and he detached himself from them to save his life, that of his son, and of the traveller they were accompanying... Without his action seven persons would have lost their lives instead of four.”
Then a discussion began. Tartarin thought that in letting yourself be roped in file you were bound in honour to live and die together; and growing excited, especially in presence of ladies, he backed his opinion by facts and by persons present: “Tomorrow, té! to-morrow, in roping myself to Bom-pard, it is not a simple precaution that I shall take, it is an oath before God and man to be one with my companion and to die sooner than return without him, coquin de sort!”
“I accept the oath for myself, as for you, Tar-tarin...” cried Bompard from the other side of the round table.