“This is not where—Will you come into the dressing-room, sir? We have a nice warm room for the lecturers on the other side of the—”
“No—sir; I won't go another step, except on to that platform, and I'm not very anxious now to get there—not until I put something inside of me—” (here I unstrapped my bag) “to save me from an attack of pneumonia.” (I had my flask out now and the cup filled to the brim.) “When I think of how hard I worked to get here and how little you—” (and down it went at one gulp).
The expression of disgust that wrinkled the placid face of the Immaculate as the half-empty flask went back to its place, was pathetic—but I wouldn't have given him a drop to have saved his life.
I turned on him again.
“Do you think it would be possible to get a vehicle of any kind to take me where I am to sleep?”
“I think so, sir.” His self-control was admirable.
“Well, will you please do it?”
“A sleigh has already been ordered, sir.” This came through tightly closed lips.
“All right. Now down which aisle is the entrance to the platform?”
“This way, sir.” The highest glacier on Mont Blanc couldn't have been colder or more impassive.