NO PHOTOGRAPHERS

• By PHILIP HEWITT-MYRING

THE young man in the dirty green golfing suit stood in the middle of the sun-drenched café. His mouth hung vacantly open. His slightly protruding eyes had a glazed expression.

Little Jacqueline, aged i i, and for the time being in sole charge of the cafe—and, indeed, of the whole ground floor— of the Hotel du Lez, approached him. The youth looked down at her, blushed, mumbled something or other, and sat down heavily at a table.

" Oughtn't you to go and help him ? " asked my wife. " He looks as if he may be English."

" He is certainly English," I replied. " And he needs no help. If he were wearing a tie, we would probably see that he has had the benefit of an expensive education. In any case, it is quite certain that he is not such a fool as he looks."

" How do you know that ? " asked my wife.

" Because he is English. No Englishman," I observed sententiously, " is half so foolish as he looks, and no American is half so intelligent : no American man," I added hastily, for my wife hails from a fair Southern State.

" I don't believe you," said my wife.

" Wisely perhaps," I agreed. " In the present instance, however, time will probably show."

It did. After drinking his aperitif in the café, the young man lunched in the dining-room within ; then, returning outdoors, took his coffee at a table next to ours. Since we had been eyeing each other like two mistrustful dogs, and since, after all, my wife and I were at that time the only two English- speaking people in Gue du Lez, I felt I might address him.

I found him, as I had anticipated, both pleasant and intelligent. He clearly recognised that fate had sent him the gift. (or almost the gift) of a luncheon the like of which a man might seek in vain in a lifetime's wandering between Lyons and Marseilles ; but, he went on to say, his aim in cycling from twenty miles away had been, not food, but photography—and he tapped the Leica that hung by a strap from his shoulder.

" What are you going to photograph ? " I asked.

" Why, the château," he replied. " The grounds : and some interiors, if I can get them. It's very fine, isn't it ? "

And he told us that he had been sending some illustrated articles to his uncle, who, it appeared, was one of the directors of a certain well-known weekly.

The château that towers above Gue du Lez is, in fact, very fine. Though it is unoccupied, those parts of it which are not in ruins are expensively furnished, and visitors may inspect them, and roam about the grounds, on payment of a small sum. Since, however, the place is scheduled as a National Monument, and seeks to swell its revenues by the sale of picture postcards, no amateur photography is allowed. " Damn," said the young man when I had told him the bad news.

He looked at my wife, blushed again, and continued : " Sorry. But I'd set my heart on those photographs— and it's been a hot ride."

I was tempted, and fell. It is true that all the edicts of every authority in France are broken, not occasionally and by a few bold spirits, but all the time and as a matter of principle by almost everybody ; but I strongly hold the view that what Frenchmen do with their own laws is their own affair, and that the stranger within their gates cannot be too scrupulous in observance of even the most asinine regulations.

Still, here was a fellow-countryman in very evident distress- " Look here," I said ; " there's no real reason why you shouldn't take your photographs if you're a bit careful. The official guide up there is a woman—a cousin of the pro- prietor here, as a matter of fact. She's a good sort, and if you show her this card of mine "—I produced a visiting- card from my case—" and don't absolutely brandish your camera in front of her, she'll pretend not to notice you. She's done it before to my knowledge."

The young man thanked me warmly, finished his coffee, and started the upward trudge to the chlteau.

Immersed in work that afternoon, I did not give him another thought ; and indeed it was not until after dinner that night that the sight of his bicycle propped up against a wall in a corner of the outer café made me wonder vaguely why he had tarried so long. It was the grave, slender, Madonna-faced, little Jacqueline that enlightened me. Coming up to the table where I sat smoking, she stood modestly by me until I had given her an encouraging smile ; then said in her pure, high-pitched voice : " You know that young English gentleman your friend — " " Yes, my dear. What about him ? "

" Well, Rose—you know my cousin Rose — " Yes, I knew Rose. She was the thirteen-year-old daughter of my friend the guide ; and a sweet and solemn infant rather like Jacqueline herself.

" Well, Rose shut him up in the dungeon—the dark one down all those stairs."

" Splendid !" I said. " How long did she keep him there ? " " Oh, he's still there," replied the child.

" Really ? " I said. " It's a game, is it ? I hope they're enjoying it."

" I don't think Monsieur your friend is enjoying it very much," she declared at length ; " though he may have done for the first hour or so. The difficulty is, he doesn't speak our sort of French—and it's hard to hear what he says through the door."

" But, look here," I said, still puzzled rather than alarmed, " Rose mustn't do things like that. I can't imagine her mother's allowing her to."

" But Cousin Jeanne is away with Maman and Papa at Cousin Berthe's fête," Jacqueline explained patiently.

" When will she return ? " I asked sharply.

" Tomorrow, perhaps—or the day after," was the com- posed reply. " You see, Cousin Ignace — " " All right," I said, mentally cursing all Jacqueline's kin, who I knew made up approximately half the population of the departement of Drome. " Let me think a moment. Is Rose all alone at the château then ? "

" Oh, no," said Jacqueline. "-Monsieur her grandfather is staying there till Cousin Jeanne returns. But Rose hasn't said anything to him because she was afraid you might get into trouble."

" I ! " I exclaimed.

" Yes ; Monsieur the grandfather of Rose being also Monsieur the Mayor—and the young man having taken photographs—and since he gave her your card—That's a nice camera of Monsieur your friend, but it's not very big. There's a much bigger one at Paillart's in Montelimar—two of them, really. Both together on the left as you go in. They're cheap too : marked 65 francs ; but I could get them for you for fifty each if you thought you wanted them." " I'm sure you could," I said dully.

" It's a very dark dungeon, that," Jacqueline went on. " I am acquainted with it," I said ; and almost involun- tarily my hand went slowly to my breast pocket.

" Thank you," said Jacqueline a moment later. " I must go quickly now. It may be that Monsieur your friend is getting really annoyed."

" One cannot doubt it," I agreed. " You'll sec he keaps his camera, won't you ? "

Jacqueline looked at me with reproach in her violet eyes. " But of course," she said with dignity.

I understand that the young man was earnestly seeking me about the hotel half an hour afterwards. Unfcrtunately, I was out.