Stoutley accepted the suggestion, delivered a yawn into her
pocket-handkerchief, and retired, as she remarked, to ascend Mont Blanc
in dreams, and thus have all the pleasure without the bodily fatigue.

We are on the sides of the mountain monarch now, slowly wending our way
through the sable fringe of pines that ornaments the skirt of his white
mantle. We tramp along very slowly, for Antoine Grennon is in front and
won't allow us to go faster. To the impatient and youthful spirits of
Lawrence and Lewis, the pace appears ridiculously slow, and the latter
does not hesitate to make audible reference in his best French to the
progress of snails, but Antoine is deaf to such references. One might
fancy that he did not understand bad French, but for the momentary
twinkle in his earnest eyes. But nothing will induce him to mend his
pace, for well does he know that the ascent of Mont Blanc is no trifle;
that even trained lungs and muscles are pretty severely taxed before the
fifteen thousand seven hundred and eighty feet of perpendicular height
above the sea-level is placed below the soles of the feet. He knows,
also, from long experience, that he who would climb a mountain well, and
use his strength to advantage, must begin with a slow, leisurely pace,
as if he were merely out for a saunter, yet must progress with steady,
persevering regularity. He knows, too, that young blood is prone to
breast a mountain with head erect and spanking action, and to descend
with woeful countenance and limp limbs. It must be restrained, and
Antoine does his duty.

The ascent of Mont Blanc cannot be accomplished in one day. It is
therefore necessary to sleep at a place named the Grands Mulets, from
which a fresh start is made for the summit at the earliest hours of
morning on the second day. Towards this resting-place our travellers
now directed their steps.

The party consisted of the Professor, Captain Wopper, Lewis, Lawrence,
and Slingsby, headed by their trusty guide, besides three porters with
knapsacks containing food, wine, etcetera. One of these latter was the
chamois-hunter, Baptist Le Croix. He brought up the rear of the party,
and all proceeded in single file, each, like the North American Indian,
treading in his predecessor's footsteps.

Passing from the dark fringe of pines they emerged upon a more open
country where the royal robe was wrought with larch and hazel, bilberry,
and varied underwood, and speckled with rhodo