He would die like a brave man--like a brave man.

Surely this was death! He was gone--everything passed away.
Godfrey woke again to find himself lying upon a flat piece of snow.
Recollection came back to him with a pang, and he thought that he must have fallen.
Then he heard voices, and saw faces looking at him as through a mist, also he felt something in his mouth and throat, which seemed to burn them.

One of the voices, it was that of the guide, said: "Good, good! He finds himself, this young English hero.

See, his eyes open; more cognac, it will make him happy, and prevent the shock.

Never mind the other one; he is all right, the stupid." Godfrey sat up and tried to lift his arm to thrust away the flask which he saw approaching him, but he could not.
"Take that burning stuff away, Karl, confound you," he said.
Then Karl, a good honest fellow, who was on his knees beside him, threw his arms about him, and embraced him in a way that Godfrey thought theatrical and unpleasant, while all the others, except the rescued man, who lay semi-comatose, set up a kind of paean of praise, like a Greek chorus.
"Oh! shut up!" said Godfrey, "if we waste so much time we shall never get to the top," a remark at which they all burst out laughing.
"They talk of Providence on the Alps," shouted Karl in stentorian tones, while he performed a kind of war-dance, "but that's the kind of providence for me," and he pointed to Godfrey.