I sent them by the short cut to Breil, and walked down to Val Tournanche to look for Jean-Antoine Carrel. He was not there. The villagers said that he, and three others, had started on the 6th to try the Matterhorn by the old way, on their own account. They will have no luck, I thought, for the clouds were low down on the mountains; and I walked up to Breil, fully expecting to meet them. Nor was I disappointed. About half-way up I saw a group of men clustered around a chalet upon the other side of the torrent, and, crossing over, found that the party had returned. Jean-Antoine and Cæsar were there, C. E. Gorret, and J. J. Maquignaz. They had had no success. The weather, they said, had been horrible, and they had scarcely reached the glacier du Lion. I explained the situation to Carrel, and proposed that we, with Cæsar and another man, should cross the Théodule by moonlight on the 9th, and that upon the 10th we should pitch the tent as high as possible upon the east face. He was unwilling to abandon the old route, and urged me to try it again. I promised to do so provided the new route failed. This satisfied him, and he agreed to my proposal. I then went up to Breil, and discharged Almer and Biener—with much regret, for no two men ever served me more faithfully or more willingly.(208) On the next day they crossed to Zermatt. The 8th was occupied with preparations. The weather was stormy; and black, rainy vapours obscured the mountains. Towards evening a young man came from Val Tournanche, and reported that an Englishman was lying there, extremely ill. Now was the time for the performance of my vow;(209) and on the morning of Sunday the 9th I went down the valley to look after the sick man. On my way I passed a foreign gentleman, with a mule and several porters laden with baggage. Amongst these men were Jean-Antoine and Cæsar, carrying some barometers. “Hullo!” I said, “what are you doing?” They explained that the foreigner had arrived just as they were setting out, and that they were assisting his porters. “Very well; go on to Breil, and await me there; we start at midnight as agreed.” Jean-Antoine then said that he should not be able to serve me after Tuesday the 11th, as he was engaged to travel “with a family of distinction” in the valley of Aosta. “And Cæsar?” “And Cæsar also.” “Why did you not say this before?” “Because,” said he, “it was not settled. The engagement is of long standing, but _the day_ was not fixed. When I got back to Val Tournanche on Friday night, after leaving you, I found a letter naming the day.” I could not object to the answer; but the prospect of being left guideless was provoking. They went up, and I down, the valley.