“Well, you must, you know,” he answered.
“And,” added the older man, “the countess hopes you’ll come to breakfast afterward at ten.”
“I’ll be there, never fear,” said I, “and it’s very kind.”
“Bravo!” said the young man, clapping me on the shoulder (for we had risen from table). “You take it the right way.”
As may be supposed, I was rather puzzled by this time, and decidedly vexed to find I should have to be up so early. Still, the mention of His Royal Highness and the countess decided me to go on for the present; probably the real man—for, unless it were all a mad joke, there must be a real man—would appear in the course of the evening. I only hoped my new friends would, in their turn, take it in the right way when that happened.
“Have you a servant with you?” asked the young man, as we said good-night.
“No,” said I; “I am quite alone.”
“You are a paragon of prudence,” he answered, smiling. “Well, I’ll call you, and we’ll slip out quietly.”
Just as I was getting into bed, the waiter knocked at my door and gave me a note. It bore no address.
“Is it for me?” I asked.