On Tuesday, November 23rd, I sent an emissary among the ladies to persuade them that the summit of The Salève was loathsome. The emissary succeeded in establishing this point by contrasting it unfavourably with the Crown of Mont Blanc. The ladies thanked the emissary cordially for her most interesting information and said they would take steps to see the Crown of Mont Blanc more nearly, even if those steps had to be up The Salève.
That night I wrote in my diary: "For a year I have fought and won, but on Saturday the Crown of Mont Blanc will witness my defeat, and the whole range of the Alps will look on in silent contempt."
On Wednesday morning, November 24th, I met Mr. Balfour crossing the Pont du Mont Blanc. He was looking at It with that dreamy smile of his, which seems to laugh at the littleness of man and the futility of his policies. That finished me.
On Wednesday night, November 24th-25th (read your paper to witness if I lie), the Crown of Mont Blanc fell off ... I have left The Salève where it is. What does it matter now?
Yours ever,
Henry.
"Hullo, Brown! Fancy running up against you. How small the world is, to be sure!"
"Y-yes. Terribly small, isn't it?"