“Quite well.”

“It is Zampini’s copies of the deeds on which he bases his claim which you will have to compare with the originals, with the help of a clerk from the Record Office and a sworn translator.  You can go by Switzerland or by the Corniche route, as you please.  You will be allowed six hundred francs and a fortnight’s holiday.  Does that suit you?”

“I should think so!”

“Then pack up and be off.  You must be at Milan by the morning of the eighteenth.”

I ran to tell the news to Lampron, who was filled with surprise and not a little emotion at the mention of Italy.  And here I am flying along in the Lyons express, without a regret for Paris.  All my heart leaps forward toward Switzerland, where I shall be to-morrow.  I have chosen this green route to take me to the land of blue skies.  Up to the last moment I feared that some obstacle would arise, that the ill-luck which dogs my footsteps would keep me back, and I am quite surprised that it has let me off.  True, I nearly lost the train, and the horse of cab No. 7382 must have been a retired racer to make up for the loss of time caused by M. Plumet.

Counsellor Boule sent me on a business errand an hour before I started.  On my way back, just as I was crossing the Place de l’Opera in the aforesaid cab, a voice hailed me: 

“Monsieur Mouillard!”

I looked first to the right and then to the left, till, on a refuge, I caught sight of M. Plumet struggling to attract my attention.  I stopped the cab, and a smile of satisfaction spread over M. Plumet’s countenance.  He stepped off the refuge.  I opened the cab-door.  But a brougham passed, and the horse pushed me back into the cab with his nose.  I opened the door a second time; another brougham came by; then a third; finally two serried lines of traffic cut me off from M. Plumet, who kept shouting something to me which the noise of the wheels and the crowd prevented me from hearing.  I signalled my despair to M. Plumet.  He rose on tiptoe.  I could not hear any better.

Five minutes lost!  Impossible to wait any longer!  Besides, who could tell that it was not a trap to prevent my departure, though in friendly guise?  I shuddered at the thought and shouted: 

“Gare de Lyon, cabby, as fast as you can drive!”

My orders were obeyed.  We got to the station to find the train made up and ready to start, and I was the last to take a ticket.

I suppose M. Plumet managed to escape from his refuge.

Geneva.

On my arrival I found, keeping order on the way outside the station, the drollest policeman that ever stepped out of a comic opera.  At home we should have had to protect him against the boys; here he protects others.

Well, it shows that I am really abroad.

I have only two hours to spare in this town.  What shall I see?  The country; that is always beautiful, whereas many so-called “sights” are not.  I will make for the shores of the lake, for the spot where the Rhone leaves it, to flow toward France.  The Rhone, which is so muddy at Avignon, is clean here; deep and clear as a creek of the sea.  It rushes along in a narrow blue torrent compressed between a quay and a line of houses.