Nothing prevented our starting at once but the absence of Macdonald and the want of a bâton. Reynaud suggested a visit to the postmaster, who possessed a bâton of local celebrity. Down we went to the bureau, but it was closed: we hallooed through the slits, but no answer. At last the postmaster was discovered endeavoring (with very fair success) to make himself intoxicated. He was just able to ejaculate, “France! ’tis the first nation in the world!”—a phrase used by a Frenchman when in the state in which a Briton begins to shout, “We won’t go home till morning,” national glory being uppermost in the thoughts of one, and home in those of the other. The bâton was produced: it was a branch of a young oak, about five feet long, gnarled and twisted in several directions. “Sir,” said the postmaster, as he presented it, “France! ’tis the first—the first nation in the world, by its—” He stuck. “Bâtons,” I suggested. “Yes, yes, sir: by its bâtons, by its—its—” and here he could not get on at all. As I looked at this young limb, I thought of my own; but Reynaud, who knew everything about everybody in the village, said there was not a better one; so off we went with it, leaving the official staggering in the road, and muttering, “France! ’tis the first nation in the world!” The 3d of August came, but Macdonald did not appear, so we started for the Val Louise, our party consisting of Reynaud, myself and a porter, Jean Casimir Giraud, nicknamed “Little Nails,” the shoemaker of the place. An hour and a half’s smart walking took us to La Ville de Val Louise, our hearts gladdened by the glorious peaks of Pelvoux shining out without a cloud around them. I renewed acquaintance with the mayor of La Ville. His aspect was original and his manners were gracious, but the odor which proceeded from him was dreadful. The same may be said of most of the inhabitants of these valleys. Reynaud kindly undertook to look after the commissariat, and I found to my annoyance, when we were about to leave, that I had given tacit consent to a small wine-cask being carried with us, which was a great nuisance from the commencement. It was excessively awkward to handle: one man tried to carry it, and then another, and at last it was slung from one of our bâtons, and was carried by two, which gave our party the appearance of a mechanical diagram to illustrate the uses of levers. At La Ville the Val Louise splits into two branches—the Val d’Entraigues on the left, and the Vallon d’Alefred (or Ailefroide) the right: our route was the latter, and we moved steadily forward to the village of La Pisse, where Pierre Sémiond lived, who was reputed to know more about the Pelvoux than any other man. He looked an honest fellow, but unfortunately he was ill and could not come. He recommended his brother, an aged creature, whose furrowed and wrinkled face hardly seemed to announce the man we wanted; but, having no choice, we engaged him and again set forth. [Illustration: IN THE VAL D’ALEFRED]