quickly he shut it again.

From the shelf Linforth spoke:

"It is bad, Peter?"

"It is impossible," replied Peter in English with a strong German accent.
For the last three years he and his brother had acted as guides to the
same two men who were now in the Meije hut. "We are a strong party, but
it is impossible. Before I could walk a yard from the door, I would have
to lend a lantern. And it is after four o'clock! The water is frozen in
the pail, and I have never known that before in August."

"Very well," said Linforth, turning over in his blankets. It was warm
among the blankets and the straw, and he spoke with contentment. Later in
the day he might rail against the weather. But for the moment he was very
clear that there were worse things in the world than to lie snug and hear
the wind tearing about the cliffs and know that there was no chance of
facing it.

"We will not go back to La Bérarde," he said. "The storm may clear. We
will wait in the hut until tomorrow."

And from a third figure on the shelf there came in guttural English:

"Yes, yes. Of course."

The fourth man had not wakened from his sleep, and it was not until he
was shaken by the shoulder at ten o'clock in the morning that he sat up
and rubbed his eyes.