“For absolute absence of temptation to drink, St. Gervais is the place. I will write you concerning the water when I have tasted some.
“P. S.—I forgot to mention that another thing you come here for is to get regular sleep, and plenty of it, in the early part of the night. Having resolved upon this, we played poker till three in the morning.
“If you have a friend who desires to reform, by all means advise him to come to St. Gervais. There is no such place on the continent for reform. A man in the next room, with acute inflammatory rheumatism, actually complained of us this morning. He said he couldn’t sleep with us near him. We sent word to him that there were other hotels, but that we couldn’t peril our chances of reform by moving. We were determined to persevere till we had made new men of ourselves. We were very positive, and would not move.
“We could hear the rheumatic gentleman swear, through the wall, but we sat there reforming all the same, and smiling at his irascibility. Why will such men come to places intended as reformatories? What is a man with rheumatism, inflammatory or otherwise, to five men trying to mend their ways? I think we played an hour longer than we would, for the pleasure of hearing him profane.
“St. Gervais is a good place to come to to get away from rum, but it is of no account for rheumatism. This man thought so, for he left the house in the morning. I will write you about the baths to-morrow. I have no doubt they are good. It is said they do away with the rum appetite.”
From Sallanches the road is through a most beautiful country. As we approach St. Martin the carriage is stopped, so that we can have one last look at the dazzling peaks of Mt. Blanc. They are at the very head of the valley, and although twelve miles away, in a straight line, they loom up so magnificently that they seem only a short distance from where we stand. It is a sight never to be forgotten.
The valley now assumes a more barren appearance, with but little to interest one. An occasional waterfall, a handsome hedge or two, relieves the dull monotony of the ride, till Bonneville, a picturesque town, the capital of the province, is reached. There we have dinner, and then on towards Geneva, passing the two ruined towers of the ancient castle of Fancingny, after which the province was named. Crossing the long substantial bridge of the Foron river, we come to Annemasse, and then rush through a number of pretty little villages, reaching the suburbs of Geneva, and, after having been on the road since seven o’clock, finally draw up at the hotel on the lake, a thoroughly tired, hot and dusty party.
