“That is very true, Jacques; and I wish I could take credit for the best deserts. But you have not answered Madama’s question.”
“Of Dr Paccard, Monsieur? The old man is almost himself again. He can see his son-in-law at last.”
“It was cruel of you to force him to the summit,” said Madame.
“Why, what would you?” answered the mountaineer. “He would never have believed else; and upon his belief depended my reward.”
“But, by all accounts, he could not see, even then.”
“That is true; but others could. My faith, he was bad! But it was his bargain, not mine, that he should accompany me to witness. He would have given up before we slept the first night on la Côte. There had been enough and to spare already to terrify him. With dusk had come an oppression of the air. Our axes sang like flutes. Suddenly, as I climbed, holding my staff by the middle, it had a knob of light for head—a thing like a luminous bladder, that palpitated, and swelled, and shrunk and swelled again; till, in a moment, it detached itself and floated away, far, far into the shadows, where it burst with a clap like thunder. Then came the lightning, above, everywhere. One blaze struck the ground, right in front of us. It was as if a bucket of fire had been emptied from some window of the rocks. It splashed up and was gone, leaving a stench—Mon Dieu! the fish they had been gutting up there were not very fresh.”
“O, horrible, horrible!”
“Better than that our heads had received it. But I am fatiguing Madame?”
“No, no. Go on. I have wanted so much to hear it from your lips.”
“He slept exhausted, for all his fright, wrapped in my blanket, and moaning for the good roast chicken, which he had ordered at home against his soon return. When he awoke, it was bright calm sunlight, and he had gathered new heart of rest. We went on and up; but his courage soon ebbed, running out at his heels, until, Mon Dieu! he was crawling on his belly like a mole. That was laughable enough; but even so, my merriment could urge him no further than the Dôme du Goûter, where he sat down and refused to move a step further. I gave him my glass, and told him to look how the villagers watched us from below, and at Martha herself, the brave child, waving to us with her handkerchief. It was all of no use. I had to leave him and go on alone. The thin air suffocated me. The wind shaved my cheeks, drawing blood from them like a clumsy barber. Every sweep of its razor was a gash. But by then I was mad to conquer or perish. Though it strip me to the bone, I thought, my skeleton shall stand on the summit. And presently, all in an instant, I was there.