An Ascent of Mont Ventoux 



one of us, my good friend Delacour, had 

 strayed aside in search of Euphorbia saxitalis, 

 one of the botanical curiosities of these 

 heights. Making a speaking-trumpet of 

 our hands, we shouted as one man. No 

 answer came. Our voices were lost in the 

 flaky thickness and the dull sound of the 

 whirling mist. As the wanderer could not 

 hear us, we had to look for him. In the 

 darkness it was impossible to see one 

 another at a distance of two or three yards; 

 and I was the only one of the seven to know 

 the locality. So that nobody might be left 

 in the lurch, we took hands and I placed my- 

 self at the head of the chain. For some 

 minutes we played a regular game of blind- 

 man's buff, leading to nothing. No doubt, 

 on seeing the clouds drift up, Delacour, who 

 knew the Ventoux, had taken advantage of 

 the last gleams of light to hasten to the 

 shelter of the Jas. We resolved to make 

 for it ourselves as quickly as possible, for 

 already our clothes were streaming with rain 

 inside as well as out. Our white-duck 

 trousers were sticking to us like a second 

 skin. 



A serious difficulty arose: the hurrying 

 backwards and forwards, the twisting and 

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