He spoke in French, and punctuated with hiccoughs.  His friend was French, too, but spoke in German—­using the same system of punctuation, however.  The friend called himself the “Captain of Mont Blanc,” and wanted us to make the ascent with him.  He said he had made more ascents than any other man—­forty seven—­and his brother had made thirty-seven.  His brother was the best guide in the world, except himself—­but he, yes, observe him well—­he was the “Captain of Mont Blanc”—­that title belonged to none other.

The “king” was as good as his word—­he overtook that long procession of tourists and went by it like a hurricane.  The result was that we got choicer rooms at the hotel in Chamonix than we should have done if his majesty had been a slower artist—­or rather, if he hadn’t most providentially got drunk before he left Argentie`re.