In the Post Office at Montreux, Ray and Lois, with startled looks,
faced the fact that only a modest five pounds stood between them and
poverty in a land which esteemed its visitors according to the size of
their purses.
The quietly portentous statement of the young man behind the glass
screen at the Post Office, as to the unlikelihood of their telegram
ever reaching its destination, was well calculated to take away their
breath. It left them floundering like incapable swimmers washed
suddenly out of their depth.
Lois, having infinite faith in Ray, was the first to recover herself
with a glimmer of amusement.
“We’ll manage somehow,” she said. “It’s all part of the adventure.”
Ray had had experience of shortage in foreign lands and knew how
small was the sympathy it evoked. But it was assuredly not for him
to emphasise the sorriness of their plight, which, he kept saying to
himself, was all due to his own idiocy in losing his purse.
“Seems to me a cup of tea is indicated,” he said. “Perhaps it will
stimulate our jaded brains to see the way out,” and he led her to the
little tea-shop near the Kursaal.
They had it to themselves at the moment, and Mademoiselle in charge
welcomed them with smiles as possible harbingers of a revival of
business.
“Iff you please,--tea?” she asked, proud of her accomplishment.
“A good pot of tea and some of those cakes. How well you speak
English!” said Ray.
“We haf many English, you see, and I wass in Bhry-tonn for one year.
Yes, sank you, saire.”
“Perhaps she could recommend us to some cheap pension,” suggested
Lois, as Mademoiselle tinkled among the tea-cups behind the screen.
“She looks a sensible kind of girl and we can make her understand the
position.”
“Good idea!”--and when she came back with the tea and arranged it
before them with an ingratiating, “Iff you please,”--he asked, “I
wonder if you know of any pension, mademoiselle, where they take in
stranded foreigners for nothing a day and feed them well?”
But that was altogether too cryptic for her.
“Please?” she asked, with a puzzled smile, scenting a joke but not
fathoming it.
“We want to find a very cheap pension,” explained Lois. “We are on our
way home to England but have had the misfortune to lose our purse up
there on the Rhone Glacier. And at the Post Office they tell us we may
not be able to get any money sent from England for some time, because
of the war.”
“Ah--zis horreeble war! It is ruining us all. But yess, madame, I know
a pension which is cheap. Pension Estèphe, opposite the Gare. It is not
everything, but it is clean and it is honest, and it is cheap. I have
myself stopped there once.”
“Thank you. That is just what we want. We have telegraphed for more
money, you see, but they cannot be sure it will ever get there, and we
can’t tell when we can get away.”
“Ach! It is terreeble. There are many caught like that. Zis horreeble
war! It will ruin everybody, yess!”
“What’s the latest news about the war?” asked Ray.
“Mais, monsieur, we get little news. They are fighting all the
time--oh, terreebly. But we do not know much about it. I do hope it
will not come here. You do not think it will, monsieur?”
“We’ll hope not, ma’m’selle. But if it suited the Germans to come I’ve
no doubt they would, in spite of you.”
“Ach, I do not like the Germans. No!”
“The feeling seems general. Well, we’ll go along presently and look at
the Pension Estèphe, and if we like it we shall come in and see you
again, ma’m’selle.”
“Iff you please, saire!”
Madame of the Pension Estèphe eyed them somewhat doubtfully at first.
They were above her usual class of customer, and it took considerable
explanation to make her understand why they wanted to stop with her,
the exact relationship in which they at present stood to one another,
and, more especially why they had no luggage but their rucksacs.
However, by dint of much talk, they came at last to terms. For a room
each, and their meals, she would charge them seven francs per day for
the two. If they got married and occupied only one room it would be a
franc less. And she providently demanded a deposit of ten francs and
that they should pay their bill each day.
“For,” said she, without any beating about the bush, “you have no
luggage, you see, and you might walk away and leave me nothing but your
rucksacs which do not contain much.”
Their rooms were alongside one another and their appointments were
plain to the point of exiguity, but they were clean and the beds looked
comfortable enough.
“From the mere point of economy it’s obvious we must get married at
once,” laughed Ray, and Lois blushed but raised no objection.
“It’ll have to be a pauper’s wedding,” he ran on, “And we’ll have
a wedding-tea at Ma’m’selle’s shop and blow out one franc each on
it. I wonder what it will cost to get married? If it’s more than we
save on the room in, say, a fortnight, we can’t do it,”--at which
Lois laughed enjoyably.--“There used to be a jolly old Scotch parson
here. We’ll look him up and put the case before him. Perhaps, in the
circumstances, he’ll do it for nothing--or at all events, give us
credit till we reach home.”
And, presently, they went along to the little church in the rue de la
Gare and got the minister’s address and went along to his house, but
they found that he was away on holiday and so they had to deal with his
locum.
He proved very pleasant and amiable, however, and when the whole matter
had been explained to him he undertook to marry them as soon as they
chose and free of charge.
“Then to-morrow, please,” said Ray. “You see we save a franc a day by
getting married, and when you’ve only got five pounds altogether it’s
something.”
“If you get no reply to your telegram, you must see the Vice-Consul.
He’s Swiss, but a good chap. Some provision is to be made, I believe,
for our stranded fellow-countrymen. There are a great many here in much
the same position, and more coming in every day. It’s making a lot of
trouble, this wretched war.”
“It’ll make a lot more before it’s finished, I’m afraid. If I were home
I’d probably be in it myself--I’m in the London Scottish, you see,----”
“Ah?--You’re a kiltie, are you?” with a sparkle in the eye.
“Been one four years, and I expect every man we can scrape will be
needed before we’re through. What are folks here thinking about it all,
sir?”
“Not over well for us, I’m afraid,”--with a gloomy shake of the head.
“The Germans are not liked here, as you may have found----”
“We haven’t met one single person that has a good word to say for any
one of them.”
“Exactly! Their bumptiousness and lack of manners make them a byword.
But all the same they are believed to be overwhelmingly strong and
wonderfully organised. I should describe the general feeling as a fear
that Germany may win. In which case it will be a bad thing for us here.
We have one powerful factor in our favour, however.”
“And what is that, sir?”
“We’re in the right this time. We haven’t always been, but this time we
certainly are. And righteousness tells in the long run.”
“I hope it will. I can’t imagine England knocking under to Germany.
It’s unthinkable.”
“The Right will win.... Meanwhile they are hammering away at poor
little Belgium because she would not allow them free passage to Paris.
And she’s doing magnificently----”
“Belgium! Think of it! I’d no idea she had it in her. One has come to
associate Belgium so with Congo atrocities and purely material things
that anything heroic in her surprises one.”
“Heroic is the word. She’s holding the fort while Britain and France
and Russia get ready. It may be that she is saving Europe from
Pan-Germanism.”
“Splendid! I take off my hat to her. Good thing old Leopold’s not in
the saddle! The new man must be a good sort.”
“He must be.... Then to-morrow, Mr. Luard. Shall we say at eleven? And
I hope, my dear,”--to Lois,--“it will make for your happiness.”
“Oh, it will,” she assured him. “And it is very very good of you.”
When Ray and Lois came down to their dinner-supper, that first
night, in the common-room of their unpretentious pension, they found
a numerous company already busily at work, and were somewhat taken
aback by their looks,--burly, moustached and bearded men in blouses
and dungarees, with an odour and look of trains and engines about
them;--loud of voice, disputatious indeed, and oblivious of manners.
Lois shrank a little at sight and sound of them. But their
hostess directed them to a small table apart, covered with a
red-and-white-check cover, over which she spread a table cloth and even
provided them with napkins. For seats they had high stools without
backs. “It feels like a music-lesson,” whispered Lois,--and--“I hope
it will be more satisfying,” murmured Ray. “I’m hungry,” and watched
the black-a-vises critically out of the corners of his eyes. They toned
down for a moment when the strangers entered, and passed remarks sotto
voce between themselves, but in a minute or two were in full blast
again.
“They look like brigands,” murmured Lois. “They won’t murder us in our
beds, will they?”
“The fact of our being here will prove that we’re not worth it, I
should say.”
“I shall barricade my door all the same ... if I can. There’s not
overmuch to barricade with.”
“They’re probably quite decent fellows,--railway-men from the look of
them, and they’re generally a good sort.”
And they proved entirely so and never gave them any trouble whatever,
beyond the noise of their arguments, which was at all times tremendous
and more than once looked like ending in blows.
Most of them drifted back to work when their meal was over. With
the two or three who remained over their cigarettes, Ray got into
conversation on the war and picked up some interesting bits of
information.
Some of them had just, in the course of their work, come through
from Italy, and the thing that was exercising them all at the moment
was--what was Italy going to do? If she came in against France their
opinion was that Germany would win. If Italy maintained neutrality,
as some of them insisted was likely from what they saw and heard down
there, then they thought the other side might have a chance, but it
would be no easy job. They, also, were mightily impressed with the
idea of Germany’s strength and preparedness. But they liked her no
better than anyone else. Most of their Italian fellows had already been
recalled to the colours.
“It’ll be a bad day for the world if she wins,” said Ray.
And, “You’re right, monsieur, without a doubt,” was their unanimous
verdict.
Lois duly barricaded her door with her alpenstock and only chair, but
no murderous attempt was made on her, and she laughed at herself in the
morning, and felt like apologising to the noisy, good-humoured crew.
Promptly at eleven o’clock, too joyous of heart to let themselves be
troubled by their outward shabbiness, they walked into the little dark
gray church on the road above the station and were quietly married,
with the delightful assistance of the pastor’s wife, who was immensely
interested in their little romance. And afterwards he insisted on the
newly-married pair joining them at their mid-day meal.
“It will be a very modest wedding-feast,” he said. “But such as it
is----”
“We can’t afford to refuse such a noble offer,” laughed Ray. “We were
going to celebrate the great occasion by spending a whole franc each at
the tea-shop near the Kursaal. We save two francs and enjoy your good
company. It’s great, and we are very much obliged to you.”
“You would do as much for us if ever the occasion offered.”
“Just give us the chance, sir, and you’ll see.”
Next day the kindly Scot accompanied him on a visit to the Vice-Consul,
whom they found already being worried and badgered into desperation by
the clamorous demands of their stranded fellow-countrymen and women,
especially the latter. For every lady in distress seemed to think her
own special plight the extremest limit in that direction, and each one
claimed the individual attention of her country’s representative and
required him to send her home instantly, bag and baggage, and to ensure
her safe arrival there.
It was obviously something of a relief to him to meet a man whose
requirements were definite and modest and his methods business-like.
Ray briefly stated his case and asked if he could do anything towards
getting a telegram through for him.
“My uncle, Sir Anthony Luard, will send me money instantly when he
learns of our plight,--that is, if it is possible to do so,” he said.
“What do you think of the prospects?”
“At the moment--very doubtful. Later on things will settle down
somewhat no doubt. I am trying to get through by way of the south.
France and Germany are quite out of the question. What are your
immediate needs, Mr Luard?”
“Very small. We are cutting our coat according to the cloth we have.
Six francs a day pays our board and lodging,”--at which the Consul
permitted himself a brief smile. “But we had to walk all the way from
Innsbruck, you see, so we sent all our baggage to Meran with a Mr
Lockhart, the man who writes about Tirol,”--the consul nodded--“And we
really must buy some few things to go on with. Could I possibly draw on
Sir Anthony through you for a small sum?”
“We’ll manage it somehow. You see how I’m situated,”--with a wave of
the hand towards the adjoining room full of clamorous applicants. “As
far as I can I must do something for everybody. If I find you fifty
francs a week at present, how will that do?”
“Splendidly, and I’m ever so grateful to you. I’ve had visions of us
sleeping on a seat on the quai and eating grass.”
“We’ll hope it will not come to that for any of you,” smiled the
consul. “If the amount grows large enough to make a small draft I will
get you to sign one. But I am hoping that some arrangement will be
made before long for getting you all home through mid-France. All the
fighting is likely to be on the frontiers for some time to come, I
should say.”
“And then in Germany we will hope.”
“Germany is very strong,” said the Vice-Consul cautiously. “One can’t
foresee what may happen.”
And so their way was to that extent smoothed for them. Board and
lodging were at all events assured, and if they were not everything
that could be desired they might have been much worse, though truly
they could not have been much cheaper. The food, if a little rough,
was well-cooked and sufficient, and Monsieur and Madame of the Estèphe
and their four comely daughters grew more and more friendly under
the influence of prompt and regular payments, and did all they could
for their comfort. And Ray and Lois testified their gratitude to
Mademoiselle of the tea-shop by having a festive cup and a chat with
her every day when their rambles had not led them too far afield.
Walking, since it cost nothing, was their one diversion. Fortunately
they were both in good condition, and in spite of the heat they enjoyed
their tramps immensely. Madame of the Pension met their wishes and
provided them with portable lunches, which, if somewhat monotonous in
their constitution, were undoubtedly satisfying, and she generally
managed to amplify their evening meal to their entire contentment,
and indeed showed herself not a little proud of the distinction such
high-class guests conferred upon her establishment.
Their chief lack was news. English papers were beyond their pocket and
almost unattainable, and the local ones contained but very one-sided
and garbled statements of what was going on at the various fronts.
Cook’s offices were closed, so no news could be got there. The ‘Feuille
d’Avis’ was indeed stuck up each day in the office-window in the
Market-Place, and they went along every morning and read it for what it
was worth. But it was only by applying to their friend the consul that
they could get any actual facts, and those not of the most recent nor
of the most vital. And he was so terribly overworked that they disliked
troubling him.
At times, indeed, in sheer self-defence he locked his door and stuck
up a notice saying that he was broken down and could see no one. Then
the clamorous throng gnashed its teeth and leaned its elbows on his
bell-push, and Lois and Ray were so ashamed of their fellows that they
preferred getting along as best they could without news sooner than
harass him further.
They managed to keep brooding at bay very enjoyably by exploring
all their surroundings,--from Chillon--they could not afford to go
inside,--to Vevey;--to the Rochers-de-Naye by Veytaux and Recourbes;
and up to Les Avants and the Chauderon Gorge. Anywhere and everywhere
attainable to pedestrians they went, with unbounded energy and immense
satisfaction, and savoured the joy of life to the very fullest.
The restful beauty of the shimmering blue lake, and the uplifting glory
of the peaks of the Valais and Vaudois and Savoy, viewed as they were
through the glamour of their fulfilled love, wrought themselves into
the very texture of their lives.
To Lois it was a time of rare enchantment, heightened and
intensified--like the shining of stars in a blue-black sky--by the grim
horror of the war-clouds beyond. It might all come to an end any day.
The future might have in it unthinkable sorrows. But this at least was
theirs, and the joyous memory of it would never fail them.
“Ray! I am so glad it has all happened just so;--as far as we are
concerned, I mean. These days are my jewels. They will shine for me
always and always, and I can never lose them. Oh I am glad, glad, glad
to have lived them!”
“And what do you think I am, dear? Do you think there ever were two
happier people on this earth?”
“Never! It is not possible.”
They were perched in a little eyrie, high up the mountain-side near
Crêt d’y Bau, shoulder to shoulder for the joyful feeling of one
another, gazing out over the lake towards Geneva, eating the little
wild raspberries of inexpressibly delicious flavour which they had
gathered as they climbed.
“Whatever may come to us now we can bear it because we have had
all this,” she sighed contentedly. And asked presently, in a lower
key,--“Do you think it is possible for people to be too happy, Ray? ...
that we shall have to pay for it later on?”
“No, my dear, I don’t. Why should we? We were meant to be happy. It’s
only folly or wickedness--either in ourselves or other people--that
brings unhappiness ...”--and, stumbling along after the thread of his
thought,--“and, it seems to me that if we keep ourselves up to the
pitch of deserving happiness, whatever happens outside us cannot take
it from us. Troubles may come. Not many folks get through life without
them, and they don’t turn out the best folks as a rule. But if we
remain to one another what we are now, we shall be proof against them
all and they won’t hurt us.... In other words, my child, it is not
outward circumstance that counts, but our own inner feelings.”
“Yes! I’m feeling all that, and more and more every day.... If this
horrid war goes on do you think you will really be called up? I thought
the London Scottish and the rest were only for home-defence.”
“I wish to goodness we knew just how things stand. If it’s going to be
a life-and-death struggle England must do her proper share. Compared
with the armies over here ours is trifling,--in point of numbers, I
mean. As far as it goes it’s probably better than any of them. But it’s
very very small in comparison with their millions. And numbers tell.
There may be a national call for volunteers. If it comes you wouldn’t
have me shirk it?”
“No ... but oh, I wish it might not come,” and she pressed his arm
closer against her heart.
The Kursaal concerts, costing at the lowest one franc each, were beyond
them of course. So in the soft autumnal evenings they spent most of
their time on the quais outside the gardens, sitting when a seat was
obtainable, wandering along with the rest, leaning over the railings,
with the dark lake stretching from under their feet away into the
infinitude of night. There they could hear the music quite as well as
the wealthier folk inside, and without a doubt enjoyed it more than any
of them.
The sunsets were wonderful beyond words. The evening star hung like a
jewel in the afterglow and twinkled at itself in the smooth mirror
below. Then the summer lightning played fitfully over the further
hills and set the lake, and the bayonets of the quai-patrol that
guarded them from invasion, shimmering and gleaming, and looked so like
menacing signals that their thoughts turned constantly to the fact that
somewhere over there the world was dreadfully at war.
When it grew quite dark, parties of sober merry-makers would put off
in small boats, each with its coloured lantern, and ply quietly to and
fro, weaving their trailing reflections into patterns of extraordinary
beauty, till the lake below looked like a great dark blue carpet shot
through and through with wavering tracery of gleaming gold and all the
colours of the rainbow. And it was all undoubtedly very charming and
beautiful, but, to Lois, it was also all most strangely unreal and
evanescent, as though at any moment, at the sound of bell or whistle,
it might all vanish and give place to scenes less tranquil. For
somewhere over there the world was at war and how far it might spread
none could tell.
So the days ran on, and only now and again when it rained, and trips up
aloft were out of the question, did they ever find them long.
Their chief lack still was news of what was actually happening over
yonder behind the curtain. And this began to tell on Ray though he did
his best at first to hide it. But Lois saw and understood.
Away across there in Belgium and the north of France, England might
be feeling already the sore need of every man she could put into the
field. His fellows might already be pressing to the front. And he was
tied here by the leg.
He did his best not to show how he was feeling it, but there it was,
and his thoughtful silences, and an occasional concentrated pinching of
the brows which she had never seen in him before, told Lois the tale
even before he spoke of it.
To her he was quiet thoughtfulness itself and the perfection of married
lovers. For deep down in his heart was the knowledge that before very
long the time for parting might come. It would be sore to leave her.
It would wring his heart and hers. But he knew that if duty called she
would not have him stop. He set himself to make sure, and surer still,
that these brief days of married love should hold in their memory no
smallest flaw, and he succeeded to the full.
He told her all that was in his heart concerning future possibilities,
and they talked it all over quietly, soberly, lovingly, and were the
stronger and richer in their love.
“Whatever comes, we have had this, and nothing can take it from
us,--and the rest is in God’s hands,”--was the end to which they always
came and the strong rope to which they clung. And their love grew ever
deeper and stronger for this trying of it.