His brow clouded, and she knew the reason why.

"You are so typically European," she laughed; "I do believe that humanity over here has only two bases of action, and they are governed by '_Cherchez la femme_' and '_Cherchez l'homme_.'"

"_Mais c'est vrai, ca!_" he said doggedly.

"Not always," she replied; "or perhaps not always in the usual sense. It is true that I am going to Zurich to meet some one, but it is so very innocent when a woman goes '_cherchant la femme_,' and, as I told you before, it is a woman that I go to meet, or, rather, it is a girl."

"Are you sure?" he asked suspiciously.

"You don't believe my word yet, do you?"

"I did not say that."

"No, but really you do not."

He gave a slight shrug.

"My friend is an Irish girl," Rosina went on placidly. "I do love her so. We shall have such a good time being together next week."

"You are sure that she is not English?" the man asked, with a little touch of sarcasm in his inflection.

"If you could hear her speak you could tell that from her accent."

Von Ibn took out his case and lit another cigarette.

"What hotel do you go at in Zurich?" he asked presently.

"I shall go wherever my friend is."

"Where is she?"

"I don't know; I write her _Poste Restante_. She has been travelling for a long time with a Russian friend,--a lady," she added, with a jerk.

"I hope you will go to the Victoria," Von Ibn said slowly; "that is where I always have stay in Zurich."

"So that we may have our dining-room souvenir in common, I suppose?"

"It is a very nice place," he cried hotly; "it is not at all common! It is one of the best hotels in Zurich."

She hastily interposed an explanation of the error in his comprehension of her meaning, and by the time that he understood, the lights of Lucerne were hazing the darkness, while the Rigi and Pilate had each hung out their rope ladder of stars.

"What time do you travel in the morning?" he asked then, turning his eyes downward upon her face.

"By the first express; it goes, I believe, about eight o'clock."

"I shall not be awake," he said gloomily.

"I shall not be, either; but Ottillie will get me aboard somehow."

"If it was noon that you go, I should certainly come to the Gare," he said thoughtfully; then he reflected for a short s.p.a.ce, and added eagerly, "why do you not go later, and make an excursion by Zug; it is just on your way, and a so interesting journey."

"I know Zug, and the lake too; I've coached all through there."

"Then it would not again interest you?"

"No; I want to go straight to Molly as fast as I can."

"To Molli! Where is that? You said to Zurich you went."

She laughed and explained.

"Molly is the name of my girl friend."

"Ah, truly."

Then he was silent, and she was silent, and the lights of Lucerne continued to draw nearer and nearer.

"I wonder if I shall really never see you again," he said, after a long interval.

"I wonder."

"It is very unlikely that we shall ever meet again."

"Very."

In spite of herself her voice sounded dry.

"Where is your bank address?"

"Deutsches-Filiale, Munich, while I am in this part of the world. But why? Were you thinking of writing me weekly?"

"Oh, no," he said hastily, "but I might send you a _carte-postale_ sometimes, if you liked."

She felt obliged to laugh.

"Would you send a colored one, or just one of the regular _dix-centime_ kind," she inquired with interest.

Von Ibn contemplated her curiously.

"You have such a pretty mouth!" he murmured.

She laughed afresh.

"But with the stamp it is fifteen _centimes_ anyway," he continued.

"Stamp, what stamp? Oh, yes, the postal card," she nodded; and then, "I never really expect to see you again, but I'm glad, very glad that I met you, because you have interested and amused me so much."

"American men are so very stupid, are they not?" he said sympathetically.