‘Let it come down,’ cried Daphne; ‘but whatever the weather may be, I shall go and hear the organ after dinner. There is the bell for vespers. How nice it is to find oneself in a Roman Catholic town, with vesper-bells ringing, and dear old priests and nuns and all sorts of picturesque creatures walking about the streets!’ They dined in their own sitting-room, Sir Vernon having a good old English dislike to any intercourse with unintroduced fellow-creatures. To sit at a _table-d’hôte_ with the Tom, Dick, and Harry of cockney Switzerland would have been abhorrent to him. ‘We may get a worse dinner in our own room,’ he said, looking doubtfully at some unknown spoon-food offered to him by way of an _entrée_, ‘but we avoid rubbing shoulders with the kind of people who travel nowadays.’ ‘Are they so much worse than the people who used to travel——’ ‘When I was a young man? Yes, Daphne, quite a different race,’ said Sir Vernon with authority. ‘Gerald was right. We are in for another storm.’ A quiver of livid light, a crash of thunder, and black darkness yonder behind the hills gave emphasis to his statement. Daphne flew to the window to look at the bridges and the towers, which were almost expunged from the face of creation by a thick blinding rain. A waggon was crawling across the nearer and lower bridge, and the whole fabric rocked under its weight. ‘Nobody will dream of going to the cathedral to-night,’ said Sir Vernon. But the waiter in attendance declared that everyone would go. There would be a concert on the great organ from eight to nine. The cathedral was close by; there would be a carriage in waiting at ten minutes to eight to convey those guests who graciously deigned to patronise the concert, for which the waiter was privileged to dispose of tickets. Furthermore, the storm would assuredly abate before long. It was but a thunder-shower. Daphne stood at the window watching the thunder-shower, which seemed to be drowning the lower town and flooding the river. The rain came down in torrents; the thunder roared and bellowed over the hills; the chainwork of the suspension bridge creaked and groaned. Sir Vernon protested that the storm made him nervous, and retired to his room, leaving the young people to do as they pleased. They sat in the stormy dusk sipping their coffee, ready to put on their hats and be off the minute the carriage was announced. Daphne wore a gown of some creamy-white material, which gave her a ghostly look in the gloom. ‘You have heard this famous organ, Lina,’ she said. ‘Is it really worth stopping at Fribourg on purpose to hear it when, with a little more time and trouble, one might get half-way up Mont Blanc?’ ‘It is a wonderful organ; but you will be able to judge for yourself in a few minutes.’ ‘We should have been getting near Chamounix by this time, if we had started by this morning’s diligence,’ sighed Daphne. ‘Restless, unsatisfied soul! still harping on the mountain,’ said Gerald.