They had come to the crossing of the great square, and the sunlight was dazzling and dancing upon the white stones of the bridge and the molten gold of the Vierwaldstattersee. The Promenade was deserted and even its shade was unpleasantly warm.
“Shall I see you this afternoon?” Von Ibn asked as they went leisurely through the heat.
“Perhaps.”
“I wish it was after the déjeuner,” he said, looking out upon the lake and the crest of the mountain beyond.
She wondered if she had better say “Why,” or not, and finally decided to say it. He brought his eyes back from the Rigi and looked at her.
“Because I have the habit of always sleeping after déjeuner,” he explained.
They crossed to the hotel. It was late, and more people were coming down in the lifts than going up.
“Are you tired?” he asked.
“Yes, I think that I am—a little.”
“I advise you to sleep too,” he said gravely.