“I have not asked you why you journey in a caleche with three horses,” said Frank, insolently.
“It's my habit to do so.”
“This, then, may be mine, sir,” said Frank, throwing his knapsack on his shoulder, and preparing to depart.
“Is not the Franz Carl at Vienna?” said the Count, not seeming to notice the irritation of his manner.
“I believe so.”
“Well, then, as I am going thither, perhaps you will accept of a seat in my caleche?”
There was a frankness in the way this offer was made that suddenly routed the ill-temper Frank had fallen into. No one was less disposed than himself to accept of a favor from a perfect stranger; but the tone and manner of the proffer had, somehow, disarmed it of all appearance of such; and as he stood uncertain what answer to make, the Count added: “I 'm always lucky. I was just wishing for a travelling companion, and fortune has thrown us into acquaintanceship.”
“I don't know I can scarcely tell,” said Frank, hesitating, “how or what to answer.”
“You forget that we are comrades, Dalton or shall be, at least, in another day or two,” said the Count, familiarly; “so step in, and no more about it.”
The caleche had drawn up as he spoke, and the courier stood, cap in hand, beside the door, so that Frank had no time for any but an abrupt refusal, and that he could not give; he therefore bowed his head, and sprang in. The door was slammed sharply to, and the next moment the horses were rattling along over the snow, the merry bells of the harness jingling pleasantly as they went.