XIII AN ASCENT OF MONT VENTOUX 183 



our next halt, pointing out a little sorrel with arrow- 

 shaped leaves, springing among the loose stones, 

 and to set an example I gathered a mouthful. 

 There was a laugh at the notion. I let them laugh, 

 and soon saw one busier than another gathering the 

 precious sorrel. 



While chewing the acid leaves we came to the 

 beeches, first large solitary bushes, sweeping the 

 ground, then dwarf trees, close together, then strong 

 trunks, forming a thick dark forest whose soil is a 

 chaos of limestone blocks. Overloaded in winter by- 

 snow, beaten all the year round by fierce gusts of 

 the Mistral, many are branchless, twisted into strange 

 shapes, or even prostrate. An hour or more was 

 passed in traversing the wooded zone, which, seen 

 from a distance, looked like a black girdle on the 

 sides of the mountain. Now again the beeches 

 became stunted and scattered ; we had reached their 

 upper limit, and, despite the sorrel, all were right 

 glad to come to the spot chosen for our halt and 

 breakfast. 



We were at the fountain of La Grave, a slender 

 thread of water caught, as it issues from the ground, 

 in a line of long troughs made of beech trunks, 

 where the mountain shepherds water their flocks. 

 The temperature of the spring was 7 degrees Cent. — 

 a freshness inestimable for us who came up from the 

 sultry heat of the plain. The cloth was spread 

 over a charming carpet of Alpine plants, among 

 which glittered the thyme-leaved Paronychia, whose 

 large thin bracts are like silver scales. The provisions 

 are taken out of their bags, the bottles out of their 

 bed of hay. On this side are the solid dishes, legs 



