Her passport was declared to be official, and handing it back the officer looked inquiringly at me.  My friend then began her explanation.  As I stood attentively regarding the officer’s face, I could see his puzzled look change into one of comprehension, and then of amusement.  To her inquiry he replied that there would be no objection under the circumstances to my returning to Geneva and procuring my passport.  Encouraged by the favorable turn my fortunes had taken, I asked, through my friend, if it would be possible for me to go on without a passport.  An instantaneous change passed over his countenance, and, shrugging his shoulders, he replied that it was impossible:  there was a second custom-house at Culoz, where I should certainly be stopped, forced to explain how I had passed Belgarde, and severely punished for attempting to enter without a passport.  I did not, however, wait for him to finish his angry harangue, but passed on to the second room, where I was soon joined by my interpreting friend, who explained to me in full what I had already learned from the officer’s countenance and gesture.  She thought that I was fortunate in escaping so easily, and advised an immediate return to Geneva.  I again consulted my guide-book, and found that there was no return train for several hours, and consequently that I should arrive in Geneva too late to start for Aix-les-Bains that night.  This would necessitate waiting until Thursday, and perhaps force me to give up the trip, for our seats were engaged in the Chamouni coach for Friday morning.  I imagined my friends in vain awaiting my arrival at Aix, and the smiles of our party when they found me in Geneva upon their return from the lake.  But, more than all, the possibility of not reaching Aix at all troubled me, for I was very anxious to see my friends there, and had written home that I intended to see them.

I found by my guide-book that our train reached Culoz before the Geneva return train; so on the instant I formed the desperate resolve of running the blockade at Belgarde, and if I found it impossible to pass the custom-house at Culoz, there to take the return train for Geneva.  I walked to the platform as if merely accompanying my friend, stood for a moment at the door of the carriage conversing with her, and then, as the train started for Culoz, quickly stepped in and shut the door.  Her dismay was really pitiable:  had I not been somewhat troubled in mind myself, I should have laughed outright.  She saw nothing before me but certain destruction, and I am free to confess that the prospect of a telegram flashing over the wires at that moment from Belgarde to Culoz was not reassuring.  The die, however, had been cast, and now nothing remained but to endure in silence the interminable hour which must elapse ere we should reach Culoz.  There we were to change cars, the Geneva train going on to Paris, while we took the train on the opposite platform for Aix-les-Bains.  This