Abries is the name of the place we stopped at that night; it was
pitch-dark when we reached it, and the whole town was gone to bed,
but by great good luck we found a cafe still open (the inn was shut
up for the night), and there we lodged. I dare not say how many
miles we had walked, but we were still plucky, and having prevailed
at last on the landlord to allow us clean sheets on our beds instead
of the dirty ones he and his wife had been sleeping on since
Christmas, and making the best of the solitary decanter and pie dish
which was all the washing implements we were allowed (not a toothmug
even extra), we had coffee and bread and brandy for supper, and
retired at about eleven to the soundest sleep in spite of our
somewhat humble accommodation. If nasty, at any rate it was cheap;
they charged us a franc a piece for our suppers, beds, and two
cigars; we went to the inn to breakfast, where, though the
accommodation was somewhat better, the charge was most extortionate.
Murray is quite right in saying the travellers should bargain
beforehand at this inn (chez Richard); I think they charged us five
francs for the most ordinary breakfast. From this place we started
at about nine, and took a guide as far as the top of the Col de la
Croix Haute, having too nearly lost our way yesterday; the paths
have not been traversed much yet, and the mule and sheep droppings
are but scanty indicators of the direction of paths of which the
winds and rain have obliterated all other traces.

The Col de la Croix Haute is rightly named, it was very high, but
not so hard to ascend until we reached the snow. On the Italian
side it is terribly steep, from the French side, however, the slope
is more gradual. The snow was deeper at the top of this pass than
on either of the two previous days; in many places we sank deep in,