We therefore said, “We will go up the peak of 11,529 feet.” That determination did not settle the second question. Joanne’s “relatively easy” peak, according to his description, was evidently the most northern of the three. _Our_ peak then was to be one of the other two;—but which of them? We were inclined to favour the central one; but it was hard to determine, they looked so equal in height. When, however, the council came to study the third question—“How is it to be done?” it was unanimously voted that upon the eastern and southern sides it was certainly “relatively” difficult, and that a move should be made round to the northern side. The movement was duly executed, and after wading up some snow-slopes of considerable steepness (going occasionally beyond 40°), we found ourselves in a gap or nick, between the central and northernmost Aiguille, at 8.45 A.M. We then studied the northern face of our intended peak, and finally arrived at the conclusion that it was “relatively” impracticable. Croz shrugged his big shoulders, and said, “My faith! I think you will do well to leave it to others.” Almer was more explicit, and volunteered the information that a thousand francs would not tempt him to _try_ it. We then turned to the northernmost peak, but found its southern faces even more hopeless than the northern faces of the central one. We enjoyed accordingly the unwonted luxury of a three-hours’ rest on the top of our pass; for pass we were determined it should be. We might have done worse. We were 10,300 or 10,400 feet above the level of the sea, and commanded a most picturesque view of the mountains of the Tarentaise; while, somewhat east of south, we saw the monarch of the Dauphiné _massif_, whose closer acquaintance it was our intention to make. Three sunny hours passed away, and then we turned to the descent. We saw the distant pastures of a valley (which we supposed was the Vallon or Ravine de la Sausse), and a long snow-slope leading down to them. But from that slope we were cut off by precipitous rocks, and our first impression was that we should have to return in our track. Some running up and down, however, discovered two little gullies, filled with threads of snow, and down the most northern of these we decided to go. It was a steep way but a safe one, for the cleft was so narrow that we could press the shoulder against one side whilst the feet were against the other, and the last remnant of the winter’s snow, well hardened, clung to the rift with great tenacity, and gave us a path when the rocks refused one. In half-an-hour we got to the top of the great snow-slope. Walker said—“Let us glissade;” the guides—“No, it is too steep.” Our friend, however, started off at a standing glissade, and advanced for a time very skilfully; but after a while he lost his balance, and progressed downwards and backwards with great rapidity, in a way that seemed to us very much like tumbling head over heels.