“That depends; when do you leave?”
“Tomorrow evening, at five o’clock.”
“In that case I must say adieu to you, as I am compelled to go to Naples, and shall not return hither before Saturday evening or Sunday morning. And you, baron,” pursued the count, addressing Franz, “do you also depart tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“For France?”
“No, for Venice; I shall remain in Italy for another year or two.”
“Then we shall not meet in Paris?”
“I fear I shall not have that honor.”
“Well, since we must part,” said the count, holding out a hand to each of the young men, “allow me to wish you both a safe and pleasant journey.”
It was the first time the hand of Franz had come in contact with that of the mysterious individual before him, and unconsciously he shuddered at its touch, for it felt cold and icy as that of a corpse.