LEPIDOPTERA IN THE HAUTES-ALPES { ABRIES. 261 
still in their first beauty, becomes frequent and here and there forms a 
dense scrub, and then one hears the stream that rushes away down to 
Ristolas. A big Parnassius flops near you—P. delius, by its denser 
and less transparent appearance—and soon the nets are busy for these 
are large and in fine condition, but one keeps climbing and then the P. 
delius are left behind. We hesitate as to whether we shall stick to the 
right, 7.c., follow the course we have pursued to the present or bear to 
the left, and, by following the cowpaths cross the stream. He who 
hesitates is lost! We have no doubt now that we should have followed 
our own path and come out on the slopes above the larches on the side 
of the stream by which we had ascended, but we took the cowpaths, and 
after following the course of the stream some time, crossed the latter, 
higher up than by the recognised paths. he marmot screamed its shrilly 
welcome from the rocky slopes leading up to the rugged peak above us, 
and the clouds began to gather on the mountains. Soon the sun went in 
and we had to wait for the gleams of sunshine to show us what insects 
were there. In these short periods we soon learned that on these steep 
short pastures, now well above the topmost larches, the highest alpine 
fauna had come. Scetina aurita fluttered actively as soon as the sun 
showed itself, and the slight hollows were soon filled with Psodos 
trepidaria. The little grey Pyralid—Hercyna alpestralis—buzzed quickly, 
dropping like a stone as the clouds covered the sun again. The 
absence of the sun was soon felt; insensibly, we pulled our coats 
around us and trudged on. A moment’s break, the sun peeped out 
on the steep and treacherous skrees, and Hrebia gorge was fluttering 
everywhere; we step on the skrees, and away goes a large black 
butterfly, H'rebia glacialis, and then another, and another. Evidently 
we had hit an excellent place for these species but the sun was covered 
by another bank of clouds, and the butterflies disappeared as if by 
magic. Weclmbed on and at last reached the first cairn. It was 
now 1.30 p.m., and we had been six and a half hours on our journey. 
Selecting a point of vantage, we swept the horizon. Far away to the east 
the snow-clad peaks of the Dauphiné Alps—lLes Hcrins, La Meije, 
and other old friends. Directly south the huge Monte Viso and all 
its attendant peaks, to the north other old friends—the peaks round 
the Mont Genévre pass and Briangon—and to the south-west the 
peaks of the Embrunnais, whilst almost at our feet, some 8,000 feet 
below lay the Guil, and the villages of the upper valley between 
Abriés and the Italian frontier. But the highest peaks are more or 
less buried in cloud, continuously changing, and opening up ever and 
anon vignettes of beauty in a new direction. A sharp ridge separates 
the basin of the stream that we have ascended from that that falls on 
the other side. We step over the ridge and immediately come upon 
an abundance of edelweiss that is growing everywhere. This limita- 
tion of its distribution struck us as being very peculiar, for not a plant 
was to be found anywhere on that side by which we had ascended, whilst 
on the opposite (southern) slope, within five yards of the crest, it was 
in profusion. We rested for a time, and then commenced the descent 
for it was clear that the sun would shine no more on these higher 
pastures until the late afternoon, although it was brilliant enough 
in the valley. We picked up several odd things on our way 
down, but we made no zig-zags and went straight down the slopes, 
walking, slipping and sliding in a most delightful manner, Soon we 
