"I am afraid you must have thought me very rude. I ran off without a word, didn't I? The truth was my child had been suddenly taken ill and the nurse had to leave the train hurriedly. She had only just time to catch me and prevent me from going on. I am sorry. I should have liked to say good-bye."
"Make no apologies, I beg," I hastened to say courteously. But in my heart I trembled. What could this mean? Some fresh trick? She was so desperately full of guile!
"But I thought you were bound for the other end of the lake," she continued. "Do you make a long stay at Geneva?"
"No. Do you?" I retorted.
"Probably. I begin to like the place, and I have found very comfortable quarters at the Hôtel Cornavin, near the station. You may know it."
Could this be really so? Her perfect frankness amazed me. I could not credit it, much less understand it. There was surely some pitfall, some trap concealed for my abounding credulity.
"I also propose to stay some days, but am not yet established." I made so bold as to suggest that I had a great mind to try her Hôtel Cornavin.
"Why not?" she replied heartily. "The accommodation is good, nice rooms, civil people, decent cuisine. It might suit you."
She could not possibly have been more civil and gracious. Too civil by half, a more cautious man might have told himself.
The tram-car by this time had run through the Place Molard, the Allemand Marché, and was turning into the Rue de la Corraterie, pointing upward for the theatre and the Promenade des Bastions. Where was my involuntary companion bound?