ont Blanc, and all its surroundings. The
time required for the divergence is little more than two hours; with
Monsieur's walking powers perhaps not so much; besides, there is plenty
of time, as we shall reach Martigny much too soon for the train."

"In that case we shall make the detour," said Lewis. "Are the roads
difficult?"

"No; quite easy. It is well that Monsieur dispensed with a mule, as we
shall be more independent; and a mule is not so quick in its progress as
an active man."

While they chatted thus, walking at a quick pace up the valley, Antoine,
observing that his young charge was now in a conversational frame of
mind, commented on the magnificent scenery, and drew attention to points
of interest as they came into view.

Their route at first lay in the low ground by the banks of the river
Arve, which rushed along, wild and muddy, as if rejoicing in its escape
from the superincumbent glaciers that gave it birth. The great peaks of
the Mont Blanc range hemmed them in on the right, the slopes of the
Brevent on the left. Passing the village of Argentiere with rapid
strides, and pausing but a few moments to look at the vast glacier of
the same name which pours into the valley the ice-floods gendered among
the heights around the Aiguille Verte and the Aiguille du Chardonnet,
which rise respectively to a height of above 13,400 and 12,500 feet they
reached the point where the Tete-Noire route diverged to the left at
that time, in the form of a mere bridle-path, and pushed forward towards
the Col, or pass.

On the way, Antoine pointed out heaps of slabs of black slate. These,
he said, were collected by the peasants, who, in spring, covered their
snow-clad fields with them; the sun, heating the slabs, caused the snow
beneath to melt rapidly; and thus, by a very simple touch of art, they
managed to wrest from Nature several weeks that would otherwise have
been lost!

As they rose into the higher grounds, heaps and rude pillars of stone
were observed. These were the landmarks which guided travellers through
that region when it was clad in its wintry robe of deep snow, and all
paths obliterated.

At last they stood on the Col de Balme. There was a solitary inn there,
but Antoine turned aside from it and led his companion a mile or so to
one side, to a white stone, which marked the boundary between
Switzerland and France.

It is vain to attempt in words a description of scenes of grandeur.
Ink, at the b