h the window of the nearest class-room, not from any spirit of
indignation, but merely to assure himself of a physical freedom that he
had not yet realized.

"Where are you going for the holidays, Bangs?" someone asked.

"Switzerland."

"Hope you'll have a good time. See you next--oh, by Jove, I shan't
though. Good-bye, hope you'll have good luck."

"Thanks," said Michael, and he had a fleeting view of himself relegated
to the past, one of that scattered host--

_Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks_
_In Vallombrosa_--

Old Jacobeans, ghostly, innumerable, whose desks like tombstones would
bear for a little while the perishable ink of their own idle epitaphs.

* * * * *

Lucerne was airless; the avenue of pollarded limes sheltered a depressed
bulk of dusty tourists; the atmosphere was impregnated with bourgeois
exclamations; the very surface of the lake was swarming with humanity,
noisy with the click of rowlocks, and with the gutturals that seemed to
praise fitly such a theatrical setting.

Mrs. Fane wondered why they had come to Switzerland, but still she asked
Michael and Stella whether they would like to venture higher. Michael,
perceiving the hordes of Teutonic nomads who were sweeping up into the
heart of the mountains, thought that Switzerland in August would be
impossible whatever lonely height they gained. They moved to Geneva,
whose silverpointed beauty for a while deceived them, but soon both he
and Stella became restless and irritable.

"Switzerland is like sitting in a train and travelling through glorious
country," said Michael. "It's all right for a journey, but it becomes
frightfully tiring. And, mother, I do hate the sensation that all these
people round are feeling compelled to enjoy themselves. It's like a
hearty choral service."

"It's like an oratorio," said Stella. "I can't play a note here. The
very existence of these mobs is deafening."

"Well, I don't mind where we go," said Mrs. Fane. "I'm not enjoying
these peculiar tourists myself. Shall we go to the Italian lakes? I used
to like them very much. I've spent many happy days there."

"I'd rather go to France," said Michael. "Only don't let's go far. Let's
go to Lyons and find out some small place in the country. I was talking
to a decent chap--not a tourist--who said there were delightful little
red-roofed towns in the Lyonnais."

So they left Switzerland and went to Lyons where,