XVII
Inthe 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 theGermans 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, yousee,——”
“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 havefound——”
“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 doingmagnificently——”
“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 likea 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 andonly 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 itis——”
“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 ispossible 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 couldnot 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 twinkledat 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 heartwas 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.