[18 August 1900] Sat 18. Chalet des Melèzes, St Gervais les Bains, Haute Savoie. My dearest Mother. I am with the Tyrrells as you see, and it's most charming and amusing. I meant to go up an Aiguille yesterday morning, but when I woke at 2 AM the clouds were low down on the hills, fresh snow and everything unsuitable to climbing. So I quickly made a change of front and resolved to come straight away here. I went down to Chamonix early, having previously arranged a large luncheon party at Couttet's. I had a great reception, everyone congratulated me on the Dru expedition which is much thought of. Fuhrer received similar congratulations from all the guides. The Goulds were most friendly - I remember what a pig he was, by the bye! There are also some people called Sims, he had been up to Montanvert [Montenvers] and sat next me at dinner. Comes from Newcastle and knew who I was - a very cheerful party with an attractive wife. At 12 the good Broomes appeared and we all lunched with a Mr Bartlett and a Dr Corning, an American, both very agreeable. I left at 1.30 in a little carriage to drive to St Gervais with my luggage and the faithful Fuhrer. We got to St Gervais at 4, hired a horse to carry my luggage up, had tea and started off up the steepest path I ever was on, through charming woods. The clouds were still very low and we got into rain before we reached the Châlet at 6.30. It's a most fascinating little place, a wooden house up on a wooded plateau with a lovely view across the Arve valley. Mont Blanc is behind, but one cannot see it from the house. I was warmly welcomed by the Tyrrells, Mr Urquhart, Margaret and Count Blücher. There is also a Mr Casement staying here, one learned in Central Africa, who tells us shocking tales of fetish and juju. It's all so comic and nice. You have to go out of doors through the verandah to get to the dining room. The front door takes you straight into the Turkish Bath from whence you pass through a curtain into the drawing room. We all have our bath there by turns. It is not heated, but you take down a great can of hot water, wash in a little wooden compartment and then turn on a tap upon which a mountain spring douches you from head to foot. Today is heavenly, light mists floating about Bellow the plateau and making one feel as if we were cut off from the lower world and lived in a region of hilltops and sunshine. I mean to go up to a hut tomorrow afternoon and cross Mont Blanc, descending probably onto Montanvert.
I return poor old Pic's letter. Margaret sends you both her love. Dear, dear! this is entertaining! Ever your very affectionate daughter Gertrude