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After leaving Modane you slide straight downhill into the Italy of your desire; from which point the road edges, after the grand manner, along those It precipices that stand shoulder to shoulder, in a prodigious perpendicular file, till they finally admit you to a distant glimpse he ancient capital of Piedmont.
He was thinking of a conversation he had had some days before in a cafe at Dijon with a young Englishman bound for Modane ... We had bumped up against each other by chance in that strange flitting when all went to different places at different times, asking nothing of each other's business. Wake had greeted me rather shamefacedly and had proposed dinner together.
Next morning, the 8th, I awoke at Bourg in High Savoy. Here too the poplar dominates in the valleys. We ran along the shores of Lake Bourget and up the beautiful valley of the Arc in misty rain. We arrived at Modane at 10 a.m., and I was booked through to Palmanova, a new name to me at that time.
Notice was given at the hotel bureau to prepare my bill, and insert my name on the list of departures by the afternoon express, the 1.41 P.M. for Modane and Italy. It was quite certain that I should not be allowed to go off alone. And suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, came a complete change in the situation.
In the train to Modane this old story recurred again. It is imperative that English readers should understand clearly how thoroughly these little matters have been worked by the enemy.
Descending, we lose for a time the snow-clad hills, which have been our companions for so long; the rivulets join and increase to a rushing, tumbling stream, following madly after us, until we stop at St. Michel, the first station after leaving Modane. Here a great mountain close to us completely covered with snow rendered the air around intensely cold.
'Die Vogelein schwei igem im Walde, I said. His face broke into a pleasant smile, and he replied: 'Warte nur, balde rubest du auch. 'Ach, he said in German, holding out his hand, 'you have come this way, when we thought you would go by Modane. I welcome you, for I know your exploits. You are Conradi, who did so nobly in Italy? I bowed. 'Yes, I am Conradi, I said. The Col of the Swallows
I left Geneva at 6:40 a.m., September 10th; and after passing through a number of tunnels, one of which required 5-1/2 minutes of moderate railway speed, we arrived at Bellegarde, on the French border, and passed muster. From 9:00 to 10:00 o'clock we were detained at Culoz, and by noon we saw the snow-covered Alps again. At 3:30 p.m., we arrived at Modane and passed muster for Italy.
God knows where. It's a wild goose chase, of course; but my lord leans to it, and so it is to be tried." "You don't agree?" "How can I when I'm satisfied he's wrong? She was seen in the express for Modane, making for the Mont Cenis tunnel. Of course that's the true direction. She was aiming for Italy from the first; the other sister, the divorced lady, is there; we've always known that.
He compounded with Customs officials, who bowed low before him, he took part in the midnight scramble for pillows at Modane, emerging from the crowd in triumph with no less than three of the coveted aids to repose under his arm, and he saw Olive comfortably settled in another compartment with two motherly German women, and there left her.
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