Monsieur replied with true Swiss caution that he would inquire into my
statements, and that if they proved to be as represented, and if I
obtained in turn my mother's consent, he would be happy to hand me over
Isaline. "Toutefois," he added quietly, "it will be perhaps better to
rescind your journey to Lausanne. The Glion doctor is, after all, a
sufficiently skilful one." So I waited on in peace at Les Pontes. Madame had insisted upon telegraphing the news of my accident to my
mother, lest it should reach her first in the papers ("Je suis mère
moi-même, monsieur," she said, in justification of her conduct). And
next morning we got a telegram in reply from my mother, who evidently
imagined she must hurry over at once if she wished to see her son alive,
or at least must nurse him through a long and dangerous illness. Considering the injuries were a matter of about three days' sofa, in all
probability, this haste was a little overdone. However, she would arrive
by the very first _rapide_ from Paris; and on the whole I was not sorry,
for I was half afraid she might set her face against my marrying "a
foreigner," but I felt quite sure any one who once saw Isaline could
never resist her. That afternoon, when school was over, M. Claude dropped in to see how I
was getting on. I felt more like a thief at that moment than I ever felt
in my whole life before or since. I knew I must tell him the simple
truth; but I didn't know how to face it. However, as soon as I began, he
saved me the trouble by saying, "You need not mind explaining. Mademoiselle Isaline has told me all. Yon did your best for me, I feel
sure; but she loves you, and she does not love me. We cannot help these
things; they come and go without our being able to govern them. I am
sorry, more than sorry; but I thank you for your kind offices. Mademoiselle Isaline tells me you said all you could on my behalf, and
nothing on your own. Accept my congratulations on having secured the
love of the sweetest girl in all Switzerland." And he shook my hand with
an honest heartiness that cost me several more twinges both in the spine
and the half-guilty conscience. Yet, after all, it was not my fault. "Monsieur Claude," I said, "you are an honest fellow, and a noble
fellow, and I trust you will still let me be your friend." "Naturally," answered M. Claude, in his frank way. "I have only done my
duty. You have been the lucky one, but I must not bear you a grudge for
that; though it has cost my heart a hard struggle;" and, as he spoke,
the tears came for a moment in his honest blue eyes, though he tried to
brush them away unseen. "Monsieur Claude," I said, "you are too generous to me. I can never
forgive myself for this." Before many days my mother came to hand duly; and though her social
prejudices were just a trifle shocked, at first, by the farmhouse, with
its hams and maize, which I had found so picturesque, I judged rightly
that Isaline would soon make an easy conquest of her. My mother readily
admitted that my accent had improved audibly to the naked ear; that
Isaline's manners were simply perfect; that she was a dear, pretty,
captivating little thing; and that on the whole she saw no objections,
save one possible one, to my marriage. "Of course, Charlie," she said,
"the Clairons are Protestants; because, otherwise, I could never think
of giving my consent." This was a poser in its way; for though I knew the village lay just on
the borderland, and some of the people were Catholics while others were
Reformed, I had not the remotest notion to which of the two churches
Isaline belonged. "Upon my soul, mother dear," I said, "it has never
struck me to inquire into Isaline's private abstract opinion on the
subject of the Pope's infallibility or the Geneva Confession. You see,
after all, it could hardly be regarded as an important or authoritative
one. However, I'll go at once and find out." Happily, as it turned out, the Clairons were Reformed, and so my
mother's one objection fell to the ground immediately. M. Clairon's
inquiries were also satisfactory; and the final result was that Isaline
and I were to be quietly married before the end of the summer. The good
father had a nice little vineyard estate at Pic de la Baume, which he
proposed I should undertake to cultivate; and my mother waited to see
us installed in one of the prettiest little toy châlets to be seen
anywhere at the Villeneuve end of the lovely lake. A happier or sweeter
bride than Isaline I defy the whole world, now or ever, to produce. From the day of our wedding, almost, Isaline made it the business of her
life to discover a fitting wife for good M. Claude; and in the end she
succeeded in discovering, I will freely admit (since Isaline is not
jealous), the second prettiest and second nicest girl in the whole Pays
de Vaud. And what is more, she succeeded also in getting M. Claude to
fall head over ears in love with her at first sight; to propose to her
at the end of a week; and to be accepted with effusion by Annette
herself, and with coldness by her papa, who thought the question of
means a trifle unsatisfactory. But Isaline and I arranged that Claude
should come into partnership in our vineyard business on easy terms, and
give up schoolmastering for ever; and the consequence is that he and his
wife have now got the companion châlet to ours, and between our two
local connections, in Switzerland and England, we are doing one of the
best trades in the new export wine traffic of any firm along the lake. Of course we have given up growing Yvorne, except for our own use,
confining ourselves entirely to a high-priced vintage-wine, with very
careful culture, for our English business: and I take this opportunity
of recommending our famous phylloxera-proof white Pic de la Baume,
London Agents ----. But Isaline says that looks too much like an
advertisement, so I leave off. Still, I can't help saying that a dearer
little wife than Isaline, or a better partner than Claude, never yet
fell to any man's lot. They certainly are an excellent people, these
Vaudois, and I think you would say so too if only you knew them as well
as I do. _PROFESSOR MILLITER'S DILEMMA._


The Gospel Evangelists were naturally very proud of Professor Milliter. A small and despised sect, with not many great, not many rich, not many
noble among them, they could comfort themselves at least with the
reflection that they numbered in their fold one of the most learned and
justly famous of modern English scientific thinkers. It is true, their
place of meeting at Mortiscombe was but an upper chamber in a small
cottage; their local congregation consisted of hardly more than three
score members; and their nickname among their orthodox churchy
neighbours was the very opprobrious and very ridiculous one of "the
Shivering Ranters." Still, the Gospel Evangelists felt it was a great
privilege to be permitted the ministrations of so learned and eloquent a
preacher as Professor Milliter.