en by one of the guides, checked our conversation.
We went across rapidly and in silence. We finally reached what is
called the "Junction" (which might more properly be called the
violent "Separation"), by the Cote Mountain, the Bossons and
Tacconay glaciers. At this point the scene assumes an indescribable
character; crevasses with changing colours, ice-needles with sharp
forms, seracs suspended and pierced with the light, little green
lakes compose a chaos which surpasses everything that one can
imagine. Added to this, the rush of the torrents at the foot of the
glaciers, the sinister and repeated crackings of the blocks which
detached themselves and fell in avalanches down the crevasses, the
trembling of the ground which opened beneath our feet, gave a
singular idea of those desolate places the existence of which only
betrays itself by destruction and death.

[Illustration: Passage of the "Junction".]

After passing the "Junction" you follow the Tacconay glacier for
awhile, and reach the side which leads to the Grands-Mulets. This
part, which is very sloping, is traversed in zigzags. The leading
guide takes care to trace them at an angle of thirty degrees,
when there is fresh snow, to avoid the avalanches.

After crossing for three hours on the ice and snow, we reach the
Grands-Mulets, rocks six hundred feet high, overlooking on one
side the Bossons glacier, and on the other the sloping plains
which extend to the base of the Gouter dome.

[Illustration: Hut At The Grands-Mulets.]

A small hut, constructed by the guides near the summit of the
first rock, gives a shelter to travellers, and enables them to
await a favourable moment for setting out for the summit of Mont
Blanc.

They dine there as well as they can, and sleep too; but the
proverb, "He who sleeps dines," does not apply to this elevation,
for one cannot seriously do the one or the other.

"Well," said I to Levesque, after a pretence of a meal, "did I
exaggerate the splendour of the landscape, and do you regret
having come thus far?"

"I regret it so little," he replied, "that I am determined to go
on to the summit. You may count on me."

"Very good," said I. "But you know the worst is yet to come."

"Nonsense!" he exclaimed, "we will go to the end. Meanwhile, let
us observe the sunset, which must be magnificent."

The heavens had remained wonderfully clear. The chain of the
Brevent and the Aiguilles-Rouges stretched out at our feet.
Beyond,