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Updated: May 4, 2025
As I entered the hotel again I saw the proprietor's wife make a sign to her husband. They conferred together, and sent the concierge upstairs after me. He wanted to know if I was the gentleman who had inquired the other day for Mr. Chevons, because, if I was, Mr. Chevons had arrived the day before yesterday and was staying in the hotel.
So we waited, looking at Jimmy through the screen, while the officers clinked their glasses and drank to him and called his name; and the group that looked on echoed it; and the waiters who had come in to see what was happening, repeated it among themselves. "Vive l'Angleterre! Vive les Anglais! Vive Chevons! Chevons! Chevons!" "I wonder," said Viola, "what Jimmy has been up to?
But she had smiled at the allusion, all the same the smile that had never been denied to it. We stayed an hour in Bruges and lunched there in Jimmy's hotel. The fat proprietor and his wife were still there and they remembered us. They remembered Jimmy. And they had seen him three days ago. Mr. Chevons had passed through Bruges in his Red Cross motor-car.
The proprietor, a portly and pompous Belgian, positively dissolved in smiles and bows and apologetic gestures. Mille pardons, monsieur, mille pardons. It would be all right. Monsieur Chevons was dining with the officers of the General Staff. He did not know that Madame was expected. He was to reserve a room for Monsieur? I told him to reserve rooms for me and the chauffeur, and to consult Mr.
I can see her now, sitting on that crimson velvet seat in the lounge and looking past the gesticulations of the General to Jevons, who was shaking his head at her as much as to say, "Don't you believe the old boy, he's a shocking story-teller." The old General seemed aware of her preoccupation, for he rose, murmuring affectionately, "Mon petit Chevons. I will not praise him to you, Madame.
They seemed uncertain whether Viola was Mrs. Chevons or Mrs. Furnival, and they addressed her indifferently as either. An awful indifference had come to them. Of the war they said, "C'est triste, nest-ce pas?" We left them, sitting pallid and depressed behind the barricade of their bureau, gazing after us with the saddest of smiles.
He'll be here if he's anywhere in Ghent." But she was already on the kerb, brushing me aside. She had seen behind my back the approach of the concierge and she made for him. "Is Mr. Jevons in this hotel Mr. Tasker Jevons?" Yes, Mr. Chevons was in the hotel. Madame would find him in the lounge.
He might not be in Belgium at all. He might be in Holland or in France or Germany by this time. When we got to Ostend I made systematic inquiries at the Post Office and at all probable hotels. Chevons" had stayed there one night, three nights ago. No, he had nobody with him. He had left no address. They didn't know where he was going on to.
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