IN THE DAUPHINE The day broke tardily among the mountains of Dauphine.

At half-past three on a morning of early August light should be already stealing through the little window and the chinks into the hut upon the Meije.

But the four men who lay wrapped in blankets on the long broad shelf still slept in darkness.

And when the darkness was broken it was by the sudden spit of a match.

The tiny blue flame spluttered for a few seconds and then burned bright and yellow.