2IO The H tinting IVasps 



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 J as, buried away in the dense wood ? 

 Two plants, the assiduous haunters of places 

 frequented by man — the Chenopodium honus- 

 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 Bedoin. 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 



