The steamer Mont Blanc was sweeping round the rather dangerous promontory just beyond La Tour de Peilz. The fine vessel was a brave sight as she sped arrowlike over the turquoise breast of Lake L man, her straight stem shearing up a great scintillating blade of water on either side, her powerful paddles lashing up a long line of creaming rollers, hissing and curving away in her wake. From stem to stern she was gay with bunting, for this was but her...