Still, in spite of my prosaic vision, we progressed on an enjoyable pilgrimage. I am not giving you an itinerary. I merely mention features of a day's whirl which memory has recaptured. We lunched in that little oasis of expensive civilization, Mont Dore. Incidentally we visited Orcival, with its Romanesque church and château, the objective of our expedition, and found it much as Bakkus's glowing eloquence had described. From elderly ladies at stalls under the lee of the church we bought picture post cards. We wandered through the deeply shaded walks of the _charmille_, as trimly kept as the maze of Hampton Court and three times the height. We did all sorts of other things. We stopped at wild mountain gorges alive with the rustle of water and aglow with wild-flowers. We went on foot through one-streeted, tumble-down villages and passed the time of day with the kindly inhabitants. And the August sun shone all the time. We reached Royat at about six o'clock and went straight up to our rooms. On my table some letters awaited me; but instead of finding among them the apology from Bakkus which I had expected, I came across a telephone memorandum asking me to ring up Monsieur Patou at the Hôtel Moderne, Vichy, as soon as I returned. After glancing through my correspondence, I descended to the bureau and there found Auriol in talk with the _concierge_. She broke off and waved a telegram at me. "The end of my lotus-eating. The arrangements are put through and I'm no longer hung up. So"--she made a little grimace--"it's the midnight train to Paris." "Surely to-morrow will do," I protested. "To-morrow never does," she retorted. "As you will," said I, knowing argument was hopeless. Meanwhile the _concierge_ was 'allo'-ing lustily into the telephone. "I ought to have stuck to head-quarters," she said, moving away into the lounge. "It's the first time I've ever mixed up business and--other things. Anyhow," she smiled, "I've had an adorable day. I'll remember it in Arras." "Arras?" "Roundabout." She waved vaguely. "I'll know my exact address to-morrow." "Please let me have it." "What's the good unless you promise to write to me?" "I swear," said I. "Pardon, Miladi," called the _concierge_, receiver in hand. "The _gare de Clermont-Ferrand_ says there is no _place salon-lit_ or _coupé-lit_ free in the train to-night. But there is _one place de milieu_, _premiere_, not yet taken." "Reserve it then and tell them you're sending a _chasseur_ at once with the money." She turned to me. "My luck's in." "Luck!" I cried. "To get a middle seat in a crowded carriage, for an all-night journey, with the windows shut?" She laughed. "Why is it, my dear Tony, you always seem to pretend there has never been anything like a war?" She went upstairs to cleanse herself and pack. I remained master of the telephone. In the course of time I got on to the Hôtel Moderne, Vichy. Eventually I recognized Lackaday's voice. The preliminaries of fence over, he said: