you will go now?”
“Yes, with pleasure.”
“Is it long to get a hat? I will go down to wait for you, you know.”
“It is five minutes.”
“Is it really five minutes?” he asked anxiously; “or shall I be there very much longer?”
“If I say five minutes it will be five minutes.”
He took his hat and cane in his left hand and extended the other to her with a smile.
“I will go and wait,” he said.
She gave him her hand; he held it a minute, looking down into her eyes, which wavered and fell before his.
“Comme vous êtes charmante!” he exclaimed in a low voice, and, bending, pressed a kiss (a most fervent one this time) upon the fingers which he raised within his own.
After which he left the room at once.
Rosina caught a quick breath as she went in to where her maid sat mending some lace.
“Get my things, Ottillie, I am going out.”
“What a beautiful color madame has,” Ottillie remarked, as she rose hastily and went towards the wardrobe.
Rosina looked at herself in the mirror. She was forced to smile at what she saw there, for the best cosmetic in the wide world is the knowledge that the right person is waiting downstairs.
“Do hurry, Ottillie,” she said impatiently, “and get me out a pretty, a very pretty, hat; do you hear?”
And then she felt with a glorious rush of joy how more than good life is when June is fair, and one is young, and —
“Where shall we walk?” he asked, when she came down to him.
“On the Quai, of course. No one ever walks anywhere else.”
“I do often, and we did this morning,” he replied, as they passed out through the maze of tables and orange-trees that covered the terrace before the hotel.
“I should have said ‘no one who is anybody.’”
He looked at her, a sadly puzzled trouble in his eyes.
“Is it a joke you make there,” he asked, “or but your argot?”
“I don’t know,” she said, unfurling her parasol; “the question that I am putting to myself just now is, why did not you raise this for me instead of allowing me to do it for myself?”
He looked at her fixedly.
“Why should I do so? or is that a joke?”
“No, I asked that in dead earnest.”
“In dead – in dead – ” he stammered hopelessly; “oh,” he exclaimed, “perhaps it is that I am really stupid, after all.”
“No, no,” she laughed; “it is I that am behaving badly. It amuses me to tease you by using words that you do not understand.”
“But that is not very nice of you,” he said, smiling. “Why do you want to tease me?”
“I don’t know, but I do.”
He laughed lightly.
“We amuse ourselves together, n’est-ce pas?” he asked. “It is like children to laugh and not know why. I find such pleasure very pleasant. One cannot be always wise – above all, with a woman.”
“I do not want to be wise,” she said, as they joined the promenading crowd; “I much prefer to have my clothes fit well.”
Then he laughed outright.
“Vous êtes si drôle!” he said apologetically.
“Oh, I don’t mind your laughing,” she said, “but I do wish that you would walk on the other side.”
“The other side of the street?” he asked, with surprise.
“No, no; the other side of me.”
“Why should I not be on this side as well as on that?”
“Because that’s the wrong one to be on.”
“It is not! I am on the very right place.”
“No; you should be between the lady and the street.”
“Why?” he demanded, as he raised his hat to some one.
“To protect her – me.”
“To protect you how? Nothing will come up out of the lake to hurt you.” Then he raised his hat to some people that she bowed to.
“It isn’t that, it is that the outside is where the man should walk. It’s the custom. It’s his proper place.”
“No, it is not. I am proper where I am; I would be improper if I was over there.”
“In America men always walk on the outside.”
“But we are not in America, we are in Lucerne, and that is Europe, and for Europe I am right. Mon Dieu, do you think that I do not know!”
Rosina shrugged her shoulders.
“I am really distressed when we meet any Americans, because I am sure that they think that you have not been well brought up.”
Von Ibn shrugged his shoulders.
“There are not many Americans here to think anything,” he said carelessly, “and all the Europeans whom we meet know that I am well brought up whichever side I may choose to walk upon.” He bowed again to some carriage people.
She trailed her pace a little and then paused; he was such a temptation that she could not resist.
“I do wish,” she said earnestly, “that to please me you would do as I ask you, just this once!”
He stopped short and stared first at her and then at the lake.
“I wonder,” he said slowly, – “I wonder if we are to be together ever after these days?”
“Why do you wonder that? Would you rather never see me again than do something to please me?”
“No, no,” he said hastily, a little shock in his tone, “but you must understand that if we are to be much together I cannot begin with the making of my obedience to suit you. And yet, if it is but for these two days, I can very well do whatever you may wish.”
He moved out of the line so as to think maturely upon such a weighty matter. She covered her real interest in his meditations with an excellent assumption of interest in the superb view before her. The Rigi was towering there, and its crest and the crests of all its lofty neighbors were brightly silvered by the descending sun. From Pilatus on the right, away to the green banks of Weggis and Vitznau on the left, the lake spread in blue and bronze,
