‘Not to-morrow,’ said Coningsby.
‘You know that you said once that life was too stirring in these days to permit travel to a man?’
‘I wish nothing was stirring,’ said Coningsby. ‘I wish nothing to change. All that I wish is, that this fête should never end.’
‘Is it possible that you can be capricious? You perplex me very much.’
‘Am I capricious because I dislike change?’
‘But Astrachan?’
‘It was the air of the Luxembourg that reminded me of the Desert,’ said Coningsby.
Soon after this Coningsby led Edith to the dance. It was at a ball that he had first met her at Paris, and this led to other reminiscences; all most interesting. Coningsby was perfectly happy. All mysteries, all difficulties, were driven from his recollection; he lived only in the exciting and enjoyable present. Twenty-one and in love!
Some time after this, Coningsby, who was inevitably separated from Edith, met his host.
‘Where have you been, child,’ said Sidonia, ‘that I have not seen you for some days? I am going to Madrid tomorrow.’