“How singular to think that you should have chanced upon this link of the chain! And do you know her?”
“Intimately; we were fellow-travellers for some days.”
“And where is she now?”
“She is, at this moment, at a villa on the Lake of Como, living with a Mrs. Keats, the sister of her Majesty's Envoy at Kalbbratonstadt.”
“You are marvellously accurate in this narrative, Potts,” said he, laughing; “the impression made on you by this young lady can scarcely have been a transient one.”
I suppose I grew very red,—I felt that I was much confused by this remark,—and I turned away to conceal my emotion. Crofton was too delicate to take any advantage of my distress, and merely added,—
“From having known her, you will naturally devote yourself with more ardor to serve her. May we then count upon your assistance in our project?”
“That you may,” said I. “From this hour I devote myself to it.”
Crofton at once proposed that I should order my luggage to be placed on his carriage, and start off with them; but I firmly opposed this plan. First of all, I had no luggage, and had no fancy to confess as much; secondly, I resolved to give at least one day for Vaterchen's arrival,—I'd have given a month rather than come down to the dreary thought of his being a knave, and Tintefleck a cheat! In fact, I felt that if I were to begin any new project in life with so slack an experience, that every step I took would be marked with distrust, and tarnished with suspicion. I therefore pretended to Crofton that I had given rendezvous to a friend at Lindau, and could not leave without waiting for him. I am not very sure that he believed me, but he was most careful in not dropping a word that might show incredulity; and once more we addressed ourselves to the grand project before us.
“Come in, Mary!” cried he, suddenly rising from his chair, and going to meet her. “Come in, and help us by your good counsel.”