An Ascent of Mont VentovK 203 



savory, the little pebre d'ase cheeses, flanked 

 by Aries sausages, whose pink flesh- is mottled 

 with cubes of bacon and whole pepper-corns. 

 Over here, in this corner, are green olives still 

 dripping with brine and black olives soaking 

 in oil ; in that other, Cavaillon melons, some 

 white, some orange, to suit every taste ; and, 

 down there, a jar of anchovies which make you 

 drink hard and so keep your strength up. 

 Lastly, the bottles are cooling in the ice-cold 

 water of the trough over there. Have we 

 forgotten anything ? Yes, we have not men- 

 tioned the crowning side-dish, the onions, to be 

 eaten raw with salt. Our two Parisians — for 

 we have two among us, my fellow-botanists — 

 are at first a little startled by this very invigor- 

 ating bill of fare ; soon they will be the first 

 to burst into praises. Are we all ready ? Then 

 let us sit down. 



And now begins one of those Homeric repasts 

 which mark red-letter days in one's life. The 

 first mouthfuls are almost frenzied. Slices of 

 mutton and chunks of bread follow one another 

 with alarming rapidity. Each of us, without 

 communicating his apprehensions to the others, 

 casts an anxious glance at the victuals and asks 

 himself : 



* If this is the way we are going on, shall we 

 have enough for to-night and to-morrow ? ' 



