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You were dreadful to see； and you were in misery； for you had lost the beautiful tools of your work： your hands were numb and useless； and when you sat up on the edge of your bed to draw a free breath； your frozen feet hung down like two dead weights。 You had not even finished your long walk back； you were still panting； and when you turned and stirred on the pillow in search of peace； a procession of images that you could not escape； a procession waiting impatiently in the wings； moved instantly into action under your skull。 Across the stage of your skull it moved； and for the twentieth time you fought once more the battle against these enemies that rose up out of their ashes。
I filled you with herb…teas。
〃Drink； old fellow。〃
〃You know 。 。 。 what amazed me 。 。 。〃
Boxer victorious； but punch…drunk and scarred with blows； you were re…living your strange adventure。 You could divest yourself of it only in scraps。 And as you told your dark tale； I could see you trudging without ice…axe； without ropes； without provisions； scaling cols fifteen thousand feet in the air； crawling on the faces of vertical walls； your hands and feet and knees bleeding in a temperature twenty degrees below zero。
Voided bit by bit of your blood； your strength； your reason； you went forward with the obstinacy of an ant； retracing your steps to go round an obstacle； picking yourself up after each fall to earth； climbing slopes that led to abysses； ceaselessly in motion and never asleep； for had you slept； from that bed of snow you would never have risen。 When your foot slipped and you went down； you were up again in an instant； else had you been turned into stone。 The cold was petrifying you by the minute； and the price you paid for taking a moment too much of rest； when you fell； was the agony of revivifying dead muscles in your struggle to rise to your feet。
〃You resisted temptation。 〃Amid snow；〃 you told me； 〃a man loses his instinct of self…preservation。 After two or three or four days of tramping； all you think about is sleep。 I would long for it； but then I would say to myself； 'If my wife still believes I am alive； she must believe that I am on my feet。 The boys all think I am on my feet。 They have faith in me。 And I am a skunk if I don't go on。' 〃
So you tramped on ； and each day you cut out a bit more of the opening of your shoes so that your swelling and freezing feet might have room in them。
You confided to me this strange thing：
〃As early as the second day； you know； the hardest job I had was to force myself not to think。 The pain was too much； and I was really up against it too hard。 I had to forget that； or I shouldn't have had the heart to go on walking。 But I didn't seem able to control my mind。 It kept working like a turbine。 Still； I could more or less choose what I was to think about。 I tried to stick to some film I'd seen； or book I'd read。 But the film and the book would go through my mind like lightning。。 And I'd be back where I was； in the snow； It never failed。 So I would think about other things。 。 。 。〃
There was one time； however； when； having slipped； and finding yourself stretched flat on your face in the snow； you threw in your hand。 You were like a boxer emptied of all passion by a single blow； lying and listening to the seconds drop one by one into a distant universe； until the tenth second fell and there was no appeal。
〃I've done my best and I can't make it。 Why go on？〃 All that you had to do in the world to find peace was to shut your eyes。 So little was needed to blot out that world of crags and ice and snow。 Let drop those miraculous eyelids and there was an end of blows； of stumbling falls； of torn muscles and burning ice； of that burden of life you were dragging along like a worn…out ox； a weight heavier than any wain or cart。
Already you were beginning to taste the relief of this snow that had now bee an insidious poison； this morphia that was filling you with beatitude。 Life crept out of your extremities and fled to collect round your heart while something gentle and precious snuggled in close at the centre of your being。 Little by little your consciousness deserted the distant regions of your body； and your body； that beast now gorged with suffering； lay ready to participate in the indifference of marble。
Your very scruples subsided。 Our cries ceased to reach you； or； more accurately； changed for you into dream…cries。 You were happy now； able to respond by long confident dream…strides that carried you effortlessly towards the enchantment of the plains below。 How smoothly you glided into this suddenly merciful world！ Guillaumet； you miser！ You had made up your mind to deny us your return； to take your pleasures selfishly without us among your white angels in the snows。 And then remorse floated up from the depths of your consciousness。 The dream was spoilt by the irruption of bothersome details。 〃I thought of my wife。 She would be penniless if she couldn't collect the insurance。 Yes； but the pany 。 。 。〃
When a man vanishes； his legal death is postponed for four years。 This awful detail was enough to blot out the other visions。 You were lying face downward on a bed of snow that covered a steep mountain slope。 With the ing of summer your body would be washed with this slush down into one of the thousand crevasses of the Andes。 You knew that。 But you also knew that some fifty yards away a rock was jutting up out of the snow。 〃I thought； if I get up I may be able to reach it。 And if I can prop myself up against the rock； they'll find me there next summer。〃
Once you were on your feet again； you tramped two nights and three days。 But you did not then imagine that you would go on much longer：
〃I could tell by different signs that the end was ing。 For instance； I had to stop every two or three hours to cut my shoes open a bit more and massage my swollen feet。 Or maybe my heart would be going too fast。 But I was beginning to lose my memory。 I had been going on a long time when suddenly I realized that every time I stopped I forgot something。 The first time it was a glove。 And it was cold！ I had put it down in front of me and had f