But the glory of the place was the view. From the top of the vineyard, which mounted directly behind the house, one looks straight across a vast circular plain, — mountain girdled, dotted with villages, varied by little hills, cultivated over every foot, — whose centre was the tiny bishopric of Belley. It was the joke of the village that the back door at Les Sapins was two hundred feet higher than the front; and the pride of the villa that from it one could see Mont Blanc.
from The Nutmeg Tree, by Margery Sharp
(It was very hard, at least for me, to take a picture that captures it ... and it's often completely hidden in the clouds ... but there's our mountain, behind the first row of Alps, in the place where they dip lowest, just right of the center of the photo.)