Three days later a letter was brought in to Jörgen Thiis at the Foreign Office. It was from Mary. "I am at the Grand Hotel, and expect you to meet me there, outside the entrance, at two o'clock punctually."
He understood at once what this implied, and hurried off, for it was now a quarter to two. It did not strike him until he was on his way downstairs that their meeting was to be "outside the entrance"!
She did not wish to be alone with him in her room.
This altered his intentions. He ran up to his rooms and released from imprisonment a little black poodle puppy, a valuable animal, which he was training.
The middle of the road was filthy with slush and mud, and the dog was at once ordered to keep beside his master on the pavement, which was clean. After a few sprightly excursions he became obedient; he was afraid of Jörgen's thin cane.
Mary's erect figure was distinguishable from a long distance. She stood with her back to them, looking in the direction of the palace. Jörgen's heart beat violently; his courage was failing him.
Mary became aware of his approach by the dog's rushing up to her as to an old friend. She loved dogs; nothing but her constant change of abode had prevented her keeping one. And this was such a beautiful, healthy, well-kept animal, so entirely to her taste in every way, that she involuntarily bent down to take notice of him. As she did so she saw Jörgen. She drew herself up again at once.
"Is this your dog?" she asked, as if they had parted half an hour ago.
"Yes," answered he, taking off his hat respectfully.