"Good-bye," she said.

He kissed her rings.

"It is '_au revoir_,'" he replied, in an almost inaudible tone.

She wondered which was true, the indifferent look or the inaudible tone.

He took up his hat.

"_Pensez a moi quelquefois_," he said cheerfully, and departed.

When Molly was made acquainted with this piece of news her comment was simplicity itself.

"How queer!" she said, folding a lace fichu into a tulle hat, for she was packing fast and furiously.

"Of course I shall not go now; I shall stay here until Thursday and buy silk stockings."

"Very commendable in you."

"I'm really too tired to go before Thursday. I've been around night and day in Lucerne until I'm all worn out."

"Yes?" said Molly, ramming down shoes into the corners; "well you can rest now, sure."

"You will engage rooms for me near yours for Thursday, won't you?"

"I will."

"I'll sleep and shop to-morrow, and come on that ten o'clock express Thursday."

"'Tis settled," said Molly, slamming down the trunk-lid; "we'll be at the Insel, and expect you day after to-morrow."

"What number do you wear?" Rosina asked, as she watched the trunk locked.

"Where,--round my neck or my waist?"

"On your feet?"

"Two-and-a-half."

"Oh, what a fairy!"

Then they hurried down to lunch.

Chapter Eight

That afternoon Rosina took her maid and went for a walk. As a companion Ottillie was certainly less congenial than the lofty and eccentric gentleman who had just taken his departure for Leipsic; but going out alone with a maid is such an eminently proper occupation for a young widow travelling abroad, that the knowledge that she was entirely above suspicion should have compensated for any slight ennui which Rosina may have suffered.

They first went a few blocks up and down the Bahnhofstra.s.se, and sent the various packages which were the natural result of such a course of action to the hotel; then came the Stadthaus Garten and the Alpen-Quai.

The Quai was as gay as the Quai in Lucerne, or as any other Promenade in Switzerland at that hour and season. Rosina, tired with her shopping, seated herself upon a bench and watched with interest the vast variety and animation of the never-ending double rank which pa.s.sed slowly along before her. Beyond, the Zurichersee lay brilliantly blue beneath the midsummer sun, and far away, upon the opposite sh.o.r.e, the Alps rose upward, dark gray below, and shining white above.

There was a sudden exclamation, and out from among the crowd thronging before her came that American whose steamer-chair had elbowed Rosina's on the pa.s.sage over. There was no manner of doubt as to his joy over meeting his fellow-traveller again, and they first shook hands and then sat down to re-tie their mutual recollections. The result was that Ottillie returned alone to the hotel.

"And since Berlin?" Rosina asked, interestedly.

"Since Berlin--" said the man (and she noticed that his voice appeared to be pitched quite two octaves higher than that other voice which had lately dawned upon her ear), "oh, I've been lots of places since then,--France and Germany and Italy, up to Innspruch and into Austria and over to Buda-Pesth, and then to Salzburg and down through the Tyrol here. I've never quit seeing new places since I finished my business,--not once."

"Dear me, but you must have had a good time!"

"Yes, I have. But I've often wished myself back on the 'Kronprinz,'--haven't you?"

"No, I don't think that I have. The person that I saw the most of on the 'Kronprinz' has been with me ever since."

The American looked surprised, having supposed himself to be that very person. Rosina laughed at his face.

"I mean my maid," she explained.

Then he laughed too.

"Did you ever smoke any more?"

"Oh, dear, no. Don't you remember how that one cigarette used me up?"

"You ought to have kept on,--you'd have liked them after a while."

"Perhaps; but some one told me that they would make my fingers yellow."

"Oh, pshaw, not if you hold them the right way."

"The smoke got in my eyes so too; oh, I didn't seem to care anything about it."

Then they rose and joined the promenaders, who were beginning to grow a little fewer with the approach of the dinner hour.

"And where have you been all this time?" the man asked.

"In Paris buying clothes, and in Lucerne wearing them."

"You're travelling with friends?"

"Yes, most of the time. They went on to Constance to-day, and I am to join them there Thursday."

"If you haven't anything else to do to-night, won't you go with me to the Tonhalle and hear the music? It appears to be quite the thing to do."

"I think that that would be lovely, and I'd like to very much, only we must be back at the hotel by ten or half-past, for I am really very tired."