After that came the forest, and the children were so impressed that they were silent. The slope was fairly steep, adorned with fir trees, of which some were particularly tall and stood out as individuals on this beautiful day. Among them were centenarians with gigantic tops, which, rising above the others, robbed them of their strength, air and light, and relegated them to the shade, in which they became half weakened, knotty and stunted. Between the trees, the travelers could see the sky and the Drac mountains, whose impenetrable summits it was difficult to distinguish, because of the bluish mists of the fine autumnal weather. They heard that silvery noise of rushing water, and sometimes one of the little springs crossed the narrow mule path, the stones of which, rubbed and polished by the trucks, loaded with timber, were as glossy as hatchets. "Is nobody here?" asked Philippe, vaguely anxious, and taking shelter behind the donkey. "There must be somebody back there," his father promised him. And indeed, the trunks of the fir trees, stripped of their bark, some so long and white and still uncut, others ready for transportation, gave evidence of human effort. And the little procession passed a woodman seated on one of the most beautiful tree-trunks of the forest, which he had just cut down with its neighbors. "Good day, Claude," said Albert, who was walking last, and recognized his neighbor, Terraz. "A pity to kill such a fine tree. It needs a hundred years to grow one like that." "There is no lack of them in the Cross of Prémol," replied the peasant. "And this will help to nourish my brood." "How many children have you?" "Six, Monsieur Albert. And you have only these two?" "Yes." "Oh, but that won't be all. At your age! With such a beautiful lady!" And he burst out laughing with that natural simplicity which is not offensive. Elizabeth's cheeks were crimson, but she could not help smiling. At last, after a steep climb, they arrived at the Chartreuse. Its site had been chosen with that certainty of selection of the old monks, who knew how to combine the wild beauty of a place with its almost sacred charm, inspiring meditation and uplift of the soul. From three sides, the slopes of fir trees form a circle round the clearing in the open plain. From the fourth, there is a rise of ground, and then the entrance to the valley, scarcely visible and disdainfully rejected, like the vain attractions of the world. The old structure, built in the eleventh century, was demolished during the Revolution. At first one sees only a gate restored and fitted to the façade of the forest-house, which to-day takes the place of the convent; but the mutilated ruins which the blackberries, wild plants and even the forest have overgrown, lie here and there in the broad space, like the remains of a disfigured body.