Croz cut the way with unflagging energy throughout the whole of the ascent, and at 10.45 we stood on the summit of our pass, intending to refresh ourselves with a good halt. Unhappily, at that moment a mist, which had been playing about the ridge, swooped down and blotted out the whole of the view on the northern side. Croz was the only one who caught a glimpse of the descent, and it was deemed advisable to push on immediately, while its recollection was fresh in his memory. We are consequently unable to tell anything about the summit of the pass, except that it lies immediately to the east of Mont Bans, and is elevated about 11,300 feet above the level of the sea. It is the highest pass in Dauphiné. We called it the Col de Pilatte. We commenced to descend towards the Glacier de Pilatte by a slope of smooth ice, the face of which, according to the measurement of Mr. Moore, had an inclination of 54°! Croz still led, and the others followed at intervals of about 15 feet, all being tied together, and Almer occupying the responsible position of last man. The two guides were therefore about 70 feet apart. They were quite invisible to each other from the mist, and looked spectral even to us. But the _strong_ man could be heard by all hewing out the steps below, while every now and then the voice of the _steady_ man pierced the cloud,—“Slip not, dear sirs; place well your feet: stir not until you are certain.” For three quarters of an hour we progressed in this fashion. The axe of Croz all at once stopped. “What is the matter, Croz?” “Bergschrund, gentlemen.” “Can we get over?” “Upon my word, I don’t know; I think we must jump.” The clouds rolled away right and left as he spoke. The effect was dramatic! It was a _coup de théâtre_, preparatory to the “great sensation leap” which was about to be executed by the entire company. Some unseen cause, some cliff or obstruction in the rocks underneath, had caused our wall of ice to split into two portions, and the huge fissure which had thus been formed extended, on each hand, as far as could be seen. We, on the slope above, were separated from the slope below by a mighty crevasse. No running up and down to look for an easier place to cross could be done on an ice-slope of 54°; the chasm had to be passed then and there. A downward jump of 15 or 16 feet, and a forward leap of 7 or 8 feet had to be made at the same time. That is not much, you will say. It was not much; it was not the quantity, but it was the quality of the jump which gave to it its particular flavour. You had to hit a narrow ridge of ice. If that was passed, it seemed as if you might roll down for ever and ever. If it was not attained, you dropped into the crevasse below; which, although partly choked by icicles and snow that had fallen from above, was still gaping in many places, ready to receive an erratic body.