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Updated: June 18, 2025
But I had seen the valley between those mountains, the only possible entrance to that mysterious land. Nothing could fail us now. I cast my eyes beyond her toward the mist-wrapped tops of the far Laurentians and the plains. And a sense of an inevitable fate came over me as I perceived far away a tiny, crawling ant upon the snows Simon Leroux's dog sleigh.
By September the purple fireweed that springs up beside old camps, and in the bois brute, had bloomed and scattered its myriad, impalpable thistledowns over crystal floors. Autumn came to the Laurentians. In the morning the lake lay like a quicksilver pool under the rising mists, through which the sun struck blinding flashes of light.
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