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Updated: May 14, 2025
"There's a clock striking twelve." A few minutes later we were driving along a level in the direction of the monastery-hotel, which was said to be no more than a hundred metres beyond the village. I had often heard of this hostelry at the little mountain retreat of San Dalmazzo, loved and sought by Italians in the summer heat.
When at last we were able to start it was after three, and we should have to make good speed if we were to arrive at San Dalmazzo even by late tea-time. Terry was on his mettle, however, and I guessed that he was anxious our first day should not end in failure.
He remarked calmly that by tea-time we should doubtless have reached San Dalmazzo, a charming little mountain village with an old monastery turned into an inn; and then he audibly wondered what had become of the Prince. "My! What a shame, I'd almost forgotten him!" exclaimed Mrs. Kidder. "He must have given us up in despair and gone on." "Perhaps he's had a break-down," I suggested.
"You will never reach San Dalmazzo to-night, towing that car," we were informed by the powers that were in the hotel. "The hills you have passed are as nothing to the hills yet to come. You will do well to spend the night with us, for if you try to get on, you will be all night upon the road." Our passengers were asked to decide, and we expected a difference of opinion.
When I waked up that morning in the old monastery at San Dalmazzo, if that's the way to call it, and especially to spell it, I really thought for a few minutes that I must be dreaming. "There's no good getting up," I thought, "for if I do I shall somnambulize, and maybe break my rather pleasing nose."
A grey ghost in a long coat, with a rifle slung across his back, flitted into the road and startled the Countess by signing for us to stop. "Oh, mercy! are we going to be held up?" she whispered. "I'd forgotten about the brigands." "Only an Italian custom-house brigand," said Terry. "We've got to San Dalmazzo after all, and it isn't morning yet." "Yes, but it is!" cried Beechy.
"Yes. It is truly a lovely run there. The Alps are gorgeous. I like San Dalmazzo and the chestnut groves there," he added. "But the frontiers are annoying. All those restrictions. Nevertheless, the run to Turin is one of the finest I know."
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