‘The Count writes that he will arrive on Sunday afternoon,’ Maria answered. ‘I had better be here two days before that. I will come on Friday morning.’
‘On Friday?’ repeated the steward with a little surprise.
‘Yes. Are you superstitious, Signor Orlando?’
She really could not call him ‘Signor Schmidt’; it was too absurd; yet he was of Italian nationality.
‘No, your Excellency, I am not. But most people are. If the Signora Contessa would be kind enough to call me simply Schmidt,’ he added with a little hesitation, ‘it is an easy name to remember, and does not occur in Ariosto’s poem.’
She looked at him rather curiously, but she smiled at his last words.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘As you like.’
‘It was my mother,’ he explained, blushing shyly. ‘She is very fond of Ariosto, and she insisted on christening me Orlando. On Friday next everything will be ready to receive your Excellency and the young gentleman. Shall I provide for moving the Signora Contessa’s things?’
‘I shall be much obliged,’ said Maria, who was glad that she was to be spared all trouble.