We had not taken twenty strides, twenty of those strides which one is not able to control on a steep slope, before all fear of danger was over. Under our feet was not the empty space of the abyss but the longed-for ground, the ground covered with small stones, which rolled down in long torrents. To all of us, this rattling sound, denoting a firm footing, was heavenly music. In a few minutes we reached the upper edge of the beeches. Here the darkness was even greater than at the top of the mountain: we had to stoop to the ground to see where we were walking. How, in the gloom, were we to find the Jas, buried away in the dense wood? Two plants, the assiduous haunters of places frequented by man—the Chenopodium bonus-Henricus, or good-king-Henry, and the common nettle—served me as a clue. I swept my free hand through the air as I went along. Each sting that I felt told me of a nettle, in other words, a landmark. Verlot, in the rear, also lunged about as best he could and let smarting stings make up for the lack of vision. Our companions had but little faith in this style of reconnoitring. They spoke of continuing the furious descent, of going back, if necessary, all the way to Bédoin. Verlot, more trustful of the botanical insight with which he himself was so richly endowed, joined me in pursuing our search, in reassuring the more demoralized and in showing them that it was possible, by questioning the plants with our hands, to reach our night’s lodging in spite of the darkness. They gave way to our arguments; and, not long after, pressing on from one clump of nettles to another, our party arrived at the Jas. There we found Delacour, as well as the guide with our luggage, sheltered betimes from the rain. A blazing fire and a change of clothes soon restored our wonted cheerfulness. A block of snow, brought from the valley near by, was hung in a bag in front of the hearth. A bottle caught the water as the snow melted: this was the cistern for our evening meal. And the night was spent on a bed of beech-leaves, rubbed into powder by our predecessors; and they were numerous. Who knows how many years had passed since that mattress, now a vegetable mould, was last renewed! Those who could not sleep were told off to keep up the fire. There was no lack of hands to stir it, for the smoke, which had no other outlet than a large hole made by the partial collapse of the roof, filled the hut with an atmosphere fit to smoke herrings. To obtain a few mouthfuls of breathable air, we had to seek them in the lower strata, with our noses almost on the ground. And so we coughed and cursed and poked the fire, but vainly tried to sleep. We were all afoot by two o’clock in the morning, ready to climb the highest cone and watch the sunrise. The rain had stopped, the sky was glorious, promising a perfect day.