They were in one of the steep, narrow streets that lie beyond the bridges and lead up to the city wall. It was still, still as the desert; she looked at him, and his earnestness quelled her sense of humor over the absurdity of the situation.

"What shall I say to you?" she asked.

"Tell me that you do not expect to meet him again."

"Certainly I do not expect to meet him again; although, of course, I might meet him by chance at any time."

He looked into her face with an instant's gravest scrutiny, and then some of his shadow lifted; with the hand that he had held out he suddenly seized hers.

"You are truthfully not caring for him, _n'est-ce pas_?" he demanded.

Rosina pulled her hand from his grasp.

"Of course not," she said emphatically. "Why, I never saw the man but just that once."

"But one may be much interested in once only."

"Oh, no."

"Yes, that is true. I know it. Do not laugh, but give me your hand and swear that he does not at all interest you now."

She did not give him her hand, but she raised her eyes to the narrow strip of blazing sky that glowed above the street and said solemnly:

"I swear upon my word and honor that I do not take the slightest interest in that English gentleman who so kindly raised and lowered my windows when I was on the St. Gotthard last week."

Von Ibn drew a breath of relief.

"I am so glad," he said; and then he added, "because really, you know, it had not been very nice in you to interest yourself only for the getting up of your window."

"He put it down too," she reminded him.

"That is quite nothing--to put a window down. It is to raise them up that is to every one such labor on the Gotthardbahn. To let them down is not hard; very often mine have fell alone. And much smoke came in."

Rosina walked on and looked the other way, because she felt a need of so doing for a brief s.p.a.ce. Her escort strolled placidly at her side, all his perturbation appearing to have vanished into thin air with the satisfactory disposal of the English problem. They came to the top of the street and saw the old town-wall and its towers before them. The sun was very hot indeed, and the tourists in cabs all had their parasols raised.

"I think we had better return," she said, pausing in the last patch of shade.

Von Ibn looked at his watch.

"Yes," he said, "we must; _dejeuner_ is there now."

So they turned down into the town, taking another of the steep, little streets, so as to vary the scenery of their route. After a little he spoke again.

"And you are sure that you go Monday?"

"Yes, indeed."

"To Zurich, and then to where?"

"Then to Constance."

"And then?"

"I do not know where we shall go next."

He started slightly, and a fresh cloud overspread his face.

"Much pleasure to you," he said, almost savagely.

She looked up quickly, surprised at his tone, but her answer was spoken pleasantly enough.

"Thank you; and the same to you--all summer long."

In response he shrugged his shoulders so fiercely as to force her to notice the movement.

"Why do you shrug your shoulders like that?" she demanded.

"I am amused."

"You don't look amused."

He raised his eyebrows.

"I am amused to see that all women are the same; I have that thought just now."

"Are you in the habit of shrugging your shoulders whenever that thought occurs to you?"

He tossed his head to one side.

"Women are all the same," he repeated impatiently.

"In what way?"

"They can never tell the truth!"

"What makes you say that?"

"You."

"I?"

"Yes."

She felt very nearly vexed.

"Please explain," she commanded.

He simply gave another shrug.