its pipe,"
which, to speak more plainly, means that it is covered with
clouds, and that the snow, driven upon it by a south-west wind,
formed a long crest on its summit in the direction of the
unfathomable precipices of the Brenva glaciers. This crest
betrayed to imprudent tourists the route they would have taken,
had they had the temerity to venture upon the mountain.

The next night was very inclement. The rain and wind were
violent, and the barometer, below the "change," remained
stationary.

Towards daybreak, however, several thunder-claps announced a
change in the state of the atmosphere. Soon the clouds broke. The
chain of the Brevent and the Aiguilles-Rouges betrayed itself.
The wind, turning to the north-west, brought into view above the
Col de Balme, which shuts in the valley of Chamonix on the north,
some light, isolated, fleecy clouds, which I hailed as the
heralds of fine weather.

Despite this happy augury and a slight rise in the barometer, M.
Balmat, chief guide of Chamonix, declared to me that I must not
yet think of attempting the ascent.

"If the barometer continues to rise," he added, "and the weather
holds good, I promise you guides for the day after to-morrow--
perhaps for to-morrow. Meanwhile, have patience and stretch your
legs; I will take you up the Brevent. The clouds are clearing
away, and you will be able to exactly distinguish the path you
will have to go over to reach the summit of Mont Blanc. If, in
spite of this, you are determined to go, you may try it!"

This speech, uttered in a certain tone, was not very reassuring,
and gave food for reflection. Still, I accepted his proposition,
and he chose as my companion the guide Edward Ravanel, a very
sedate and devoted fellow, who perfectly knew his business.

M. Donatien Levesque, an enthusiastic tourist and an intrepid
pedestrian, who had made early in the previous year an interesting
and difficult trip in North America, was with me. He had already
visited the greater part of America, and was about to descend the
Mississippi to New Orleans, when the war cut short his projects and
recalled him to France. We had met at Aix-les-Bains, and we had
determined to make an excursion together in Savoy and Switzerland.

Donatien Levesque knew my intentions, and, as he thought that his
health would not permit him to attempt so long a journey over the
glaciers, it had been agreed that he should await my return from
Mont Blanc at Chamonix, and s