As soon as Christmas was over, Kubahskoi went to Dr. Vernet to tell him that he had decided to risk the operation. “Too late!” said Dr. Vernet, raising his eyebrows. “If you had made up your mind when I first spoke to you, your fate would now have been decided. As it is, you will have——Wait till tomorrow,” he said, dismissing Kubahskoi. “I shall be addressing the whole sanatorium.”
The next day it was announced that all patients who could leave their rooms were to assemble in the salon des privés at twelve o’clock. The morning cure was ignored. Patients visited each other, exchanging rumours, seeking authentic information. What had happened? Had war been declared? Had a specific been discovered? Had the franc been devalued?
A little before midday doors opened up and down the corridors, and the dressing-gowned, carpet-slippered battalions, still speculating, converged on the salon des privés. Paul and Michèle went there arm in arm. Apologies had been exchanged. Presents had been re-accepted. They were more united than ever.
A few minutes after twelve, Dr. Vernet, wearing a lounge suit, came into the salon. He was about to speak, when some more patients arrived. He looked at his watch, then ordered that the doors be locked to prevent the entry of any more late-comers.
“Well,” he said, speaking very quietly, and in French, “it is my privilege to inform you that you have all been given one fortnight’s notice to quit!”
“Comment?” and “Qu’est-ce qu’il dit?” demanded patients on all sides. Someone at the back called out: “Docteur, nous n’avons rien entendu.” Dr. Vernet repeated his statement in a voice barely louder than before. There was immediate consternation. Dr. Vernet raised his hand for silence.
“Let us not get too animated,” he said. “We are now approaching the end of the era of the private sanatorium. For a long time it has been inevitable that the Société, which has been consistently losing money, would be forced to close one or other of its leading establishments—Les Alpes or the Sana Universel. I have done everything possible to prevent the choice settling on Les Alpes. I have failed. Two weeks from today all your rooms must be vacated.”
He went on to explain that accommodation had been reserved at the Universel for all patients currently under treatment. Other patients wishing to remain in Brisset and under his medical supervision were advised to make immediate application to the management of that sanatorium. Separate arrangements for the few students still remaining at Les Alpes would be made in due course by the I.S.O.
A patient got up and inquired whether a joint protest might lead to the Société reconsidering its decision. “No chance whatsoever,” replied Dr. Vernet. Would Dr. Vernet and his staff be remaining indefinitely in Brisset? “Just so long as I have any patients.” Dr. Vernet’s simple statement was acknowledged by applause. “Would it not have been possible for the Société to have given longer notice?” asked a Belgian. “Quite possible!” replied Dr. Vernet. “If there are no more practical questions, then the meeting is at an end.”
In England there were floods, blizzards, snow-storms, hail-storms and three distinct varieties of influenza germ. Even had he wished to, there could have been no question of Paul’s leaving France before the spring.
Since even the cheapest rooms at the Universel were appreciably more expensive than those at Les Alpes, he decided that he would have to find alternative accommodation. During the next few days he called at a number of hotels and boarding-houses. He was aware that his appearance did not recommend him to the proprietors of these establishments. (Each displayed a board with the name of the pension and the warning: Seulement pour les Bien-Portants.) Whenever he asked for a room he was scrutinised with suspicion and turned away with the information that the house was full.
The days passed and with less than a week in which to find accommodation he was forced to intensify his efforts. Climbing and descending hills in the heavy snow, his army greatcoat buttoned to his chin, his shoulder-blades running with sweat, he visited the outlying pensions of the settlement. “No rooms,” he was informed everywhere. “No rooms and no vacancies before the spring.”
Many of the pensions were cold and ill-kept—by comparison the Universel seemed to possess every advantage. With only four days left, Paul decided to discontinue his search. He would take a room at the Universel and make some attempt to offset the high bills by intensive economy on all other forms of expenditure.
The fact of having made a decision raised his spirits. He set off for the Universel. At the reception bureau he learned that the last remaining room had been let that afternoon.
Two days to go. “Well?” demanded Dr. Vernet.
“A pension,” replied Paul. “I shall be able to convalesce and come to you weekly for consultations.”
“Monsieur,” said Dr. Vernet, “you do me too much honour.”
Paul buttoned up his greatcoat and set off once more for the village. He had no plan. He studied the local paper and called abortively at half a dozen new addresses. He made a series of small purchases, each time inquiring whether the shopkeeper who served him could recommend any lodgings. In the late afternoon he began to acknowledge that his task was hopeless.
What now? He went to a tea-room and ordered a cup of chocolate. A waitress came over and greeted him—she had formerly been a femme-de-chambre at Les Alpes. He told her of his difficulties. She said that she knew of a small châlet-pension in a wood just above the Universel. It was very simple, but clean, and the food was good. Because of its location very few people knew of its existence. Paul finished his coffee and set off there immediately.
He climbed up past the Universel and followed a narrow path into the wood which led him after several minutes to a clearing. There, small, trim, part wood, part brick, was the châlet. On a board was printed Châlet Anniette, and underneath, half obscured by drifted snow, the words: Pension. Chambres. Paul knocked at the door. He had decided in advance that whatever the nature of the accommodation, if any were available he would take it.
Paul returned in great excitement to the sanatorium. Everything associated with the châlet appeared propitious. It was close to the Universel; it was very cheap; the patronne, Mme. Anniette, was willing to provide a vegetarian diet.
The room which he was to occupy was approached by a separate entrance (eccentric partitioning divided it into an inner and an outer room, the windows of the inner room—which contained the bed—opening on to the interior of the outer room). There was a superb view across the Arve valley. He had arranged to move in the next day.
When he went to bed that night, one thought dominated all others: ‘Whatever else happens, this is the very last night I shall ever spend in Les Alpes.’