“Oh! ye immortal gods, where in the world are we?” CICERO. We should have started for Zermatt about 7 A.M. on the 18th, had not Biener asked to be allowed to go to mass at Evolène, a village about two and a half hours from Abricolla. He received permission, on the condition that he returned not later than mid-day, but he did not come back until 2.30 P.M., and we thereby got into a pretty little mess. The pass which we were about to traverse to Zermatt—the Col d’Hérens—is one of the few glacier-passes in this district which have been known almost from time immemorial. It is frequently crossed in the summer season, and is a very easy route, notwithstanding that the summit of the pass is 11,417 feet above the level of the sea.(173) From Abricolla to the summit the way lies chiefly over the flat Glacier de Ferpècle. The walk is of the most straightforward kind. The glacier rises in gentle undulations; its crevasses are small and easily avoided; and all you have to do, after once getting upon the ice, is to proceed due south, in the most direct manner possible. If you do so, in two hours you should be upon the summit of the pass. We tied ourselves in line, of course, when we entered upon the glacier, and placed Biener to lead, as he had frequently crossed the pass; supposing that his local knowledge might save us some time upon the other side. We had proceeded, I believe, about half-way up, when a little, thin cloud dropped down upon us from above. It was so light and gauzy, that we did not for a moment suppose it would become embarrassing, and hence I neglected to note at the proper moment the course which we should steer,—that is to say, to observe our precise situation, in regard to the summit of the pass. For some little time Biener progressed steadily, making a tolerably straight track; but at length he wavered, and deviated sometimes to the right, and sometimes to the left. Croz rushed forward directly he saw this, and taking the poor young man by his shoulders gave him a good shaking, told him that he was an imbecile, to untie himself at once, and to go to the rear. Biener looked half-frightened, and obeyed without a murmur. Croz led off briskly, and made a good straight track for a few minutes. Then, it seemed to me, he began to move steadily round to the left. I looked back, but the mist was now too thick to see our traces, and so we continued to follow our leader. At last the others (who were behind, and in a better position to judge) thought the same as I did, and we pulled up Croz to deliver our opinion. He took our criticism in good part, but when Biener opened his mouth that was too much for him to stand, and he told the young man again, “_You_ are imbecile; I bet you twenty francs to one that _my_ track is better than _yours_; twenty francs, now then, imbecile!”