When December came, and the vintage and elections were over, and the
winter had come down into the valley to stay, Italy called to us more
and more appealingly.
Yet it was not so easy to pull up and go. I liked the row-boat on the
lake, though it was getting too cold and rough for that; I liked the way
the railway guards called out "Verney-Montreux!" and "Territey-Chillon!"
as they ran alongside the carriages at these stations; I liked the
pastel portraits of mademoiselle's grandmothers on the gray walls of our
pretty chamber that overlooked the lake, and overheard the lightest lisp
of that sometimes bellowing body of water; I liked the notion of the
wild-ducks among the reeds by the Rhone, though I had no wish to kill
them; I liked our little corner fireplace, where I covered a log of the
_grand bois_ every night in the coals, and found it a perfect line of
bristling embers in the morning; I liked Poppi and the three generations
of Boulettes; and, yes, I liked mademoiselle and all her boarders; and I
hated to leave these friends. Mademoiselle made a grand Thanksgiving
supper in honor of the American nation, for which we did our best to
figure both at the table, where smoked a turkey driven over the Alps
from his Italian home for that fête (there are no Swiss turkeys), and in
the dance, for which he had wellnigh disabled us. Poppi was in uncommon
tune that night, and the voice of this pensive rheumatic lent a unique
interest to every change of the Virginia reel.
But these pleasures had to end; it grew colder and colder; we had long
since consumed all the old grape-roots which constituted our _petit
bois_, and we were ravaging our way through an expensive pile of _grand
bois_ without much effect upon the climate. One morning the most
enterprising spirit of our party kindled such a mighty blaze on our
chamber hearth that she set the chimney on fire, thus threatening the
Swiss republic with the loss of the insurance, and involving
mademoiselle in I know not what penalties for having a chimney that
could be set on fire. By the blessing of Heaven, the vigor of
mademoiselle, and the activity of Louis and Alexis the farmer, the
flames were subdued and the house saved. Mademoiselle forgave us, but we
knew it was time to go, and the next Sunday we were in Florence.