“Of all people, I am grieved to disappoint you, Mr. Darcy. My only recommendation—and it does my own understanding no extraordinary credit—is that we observe more closely these spells of melancholy and try to draw from them what conclusion we are able.” Mr. Darcy agreed that an increased vigilance was the wisest course for the present.

Elizabeth and her husband were to spend the next day ascending Montanvert to see the Mer de Glace. Having arranged to begin early in the day, the guides met them at the entrance to the hôtel, carrying long spiked poles, and sufficient provisions for the day. Mules carried the party to the foot of the mountains, where they began to ascend, after crossing a river and passing a few scattered farmsteads. The mules picked their way along the narrow pass, strewn with fallen rocks, fallen trees, and fallen snow in the form of a small avalanche. Eventually, the road became impassable even for the dexterous mules, and the party and their guides continued on foot. The scene of the avalanche was horrible: large trees were uprooted, and many bent to the ground, stript of their branches. The falling rock precipitated by the cascading snow was awesome in its power; within memory of their guide, entire villages had disappeared beneath moving seas of snow and rock, despite the crosses and processions established to arrest the power of the glacier. Such scenes required great composure to pass without alarm, and the precipice was frightful, more so with the certain knowledge that one mis-step would send the unfortunate into the chasm, never to be seen again. Several small avalanches were heard throughout the day, initially mistaken for thunder, so loud was the roar of falling ice and rock. It was necessary to stop and rest frequently, and these brief respites were usually attended by children bringing milk and strawberries and other fruits in a charming manner for purchase by the walkers. At length, when Elizabeth was ready to believe that she would never see the end of their ascent, the Mer de Glace appeared: an immense sheet of solid ice enclosed by mountains of stupendous proportion. Tall trees framed the scene, the shafts of dark green contrasting with the intense whiteness of the glacier. This sea of ice was eighteen leagues in length and surmounted by yet another frozen sea and two more glaciers, descending all the way to the plains beyond. The only respite against the interminable whiteness and frozen stone was an oasis: an island consisting of a large rock protruded from its surrounding sea of ice, upon which had grown up a garden every year—miraculously, thought Elizabeth—and in the current season was blooming profusely with wild-flowers.