When we arrived at the last châlet, Christian turned to mount the grass
slope on our left hand, which led to the part of the rocks in which the
entrance to the Schafloch was to be sought. I never climbed up grass so
steep, and before we had gone very far we were hailed by a succession of
grunts, which my companion interpreted into assurances from some
invisible person that we were going wrong. The man soon appeared, in the
shape of a charcoal-burner, and told us that we were making the ascent
much more difficult than it need be made, and also, that we should come
to some awkward rock-climbing by the route we had chosen. It was too
late, however, to turn back; so we persevered.

Before long, I heard a _Meinherr_! from Christian, in a tone which I
knew meant rest and some food. He explained that he would rather take
two small refreshments, one here and one at the Schafloch, than one
large refreshment at the cave; so we propped ourselves on the grass, and
tapped the _hotte_. The cheese proved to be delightful--six years old,
the landlady told us afterwards, and apparently as hard as a bone, but
when once mastered its flavour was admirable. Christian persuaded me to
taste the wine, of which he had a high opinion, and he was electrified
by the universal shudder the one taste caused. The grapes from which it
was brewed had been grown in a gooseberry garden, and all the saccharine
matter carefully extracted; the wine had been left without a cork since
the first dawn of its existence, and the heat and jolting of its travels
on Christian's back had reduced it to the condition of warm flat
vinegar. He drank it with the utmost relish, and was evidently
reconciled to my verdict by the consideration that there would be all
the more for him.

From the appearance of the bread and cheese when the meal had come to an
end, I concluded that my companion had changed his mind in the course of