Edwards retired to the centre of the boat; Frank rolled himself in a rug on a bench near the central deck cabins. The rest again consoled themselves with cigars. The passage was long, for the night was foggy; but the water was calm as a duck-pond. Nevertheless, Royds looked very pale as he landed at Calais. They reached Paris in the early sweetness of the morning. And what a charm the great city has at that hour, and to first-comers! The brightness, the laughter, the sunshine of the town in its life! What a contrast to the death and dirt of London at such an hour! They rushed across to an hotel near the Lyons Station, and after a hasty breakfast, breaking into three parties, drove all over the place, seeing, not “doing,” as much as time allowed. In the evening they left for Geneva. Here they stayed two nights, and then went on to Chamounix by _diligence_. From Chamounix they ascended the Montanvert to cross the Mer de Glace. This was their first climb. Royds, of course, had been before; and with quite a paternal air he selected a guide one evening, and marshalled the party the following morning. Going up the pine-woods, their weary eyes were refreshed by the sight of three female figures. Without confessing as much to one another, they one and all quickened. But still those much-wished-for forms retreated, nor did they stop till the little hut on the top was reached. And then!--But we draw a veil. They were charming ladies, and delighted to see these gay young Englishmen. But, dear ladies! they were not young. However, they were very pleasant, and the sound of the English tongue has a marvellous charm among foreigners. The following morning, at ten o’clock, the corner by the Hôtel de l’Union was the centre of interest for the good folks of Chamounix. There at the hotel door stood seven sturdy mules and two guides. And presently, to the infinite delight of the bystanders, seven young Englishmen, followed by many packages, emerged and mounted. They were bound for Martigny, over the Col de Balme. Poor guides! Unaccustomed to such riders, they started on their journey in happy ignorance. That evening, at seven o’clock, after a game struggle to keep within sight of their charges, they gave it up. And the cavalcade, headed by Edwards, putting their mules to their utmost speed (no contemptible pace considering their day’s work), raced wildly by the wondering villagers into Martigny. Knapsacks banged and flapped over the mules’ backs; tutor and pupils were boys once more, and simply shouted with delight as they clattered through the quiet streets. Much to his disgust the great Royds did not come in first. His was the worst mule, he explained at _table-d’hôte_. All slept soundly that night at Martigny.