It was indeed Maurice, who, arrayed in evening dress, advanced to meet them, and greeted Caliphronas with a smile.
“I had quite given you up, Count,” he said, shaking hands with the Greek; “your luggage arrived, but not you, and the dinner is now due. However, as neither of you gentlemen is ready, I have just put it off for half an hour, so you will just have time to dress. You know Mr. Crispin, Count?”
“Yes; you must blame him for my unpunctuality,” said Caliphronas gracefully. “I walked over here, and sent on my luggage by your groom. In the avenue I met Mr. Creespeen, and we talked of old times.”
“Ah, you know one another!” cried Maurice, flashing a keen glance at Crispin, which that gentleman sustained without blenching.
“Oh yes,” answered the poet calmly; “I was afraid I did not know the name of Count Caliphronas, but my memory played me false. I know it and him very well. We met at Athens.”
“Three years ago,” continued the Count, laughing. “You have no idea, Mr. Maurice, how astonished I was to meet my friend here. By the way, you must allow me to call you Mr. Maurice; I make such a mess of your English names.”
“I think you speak English wonderfully well, Count. Where did you learn, may I ask, if it is not a rude question?”
“I had an English tutor,” replied Caliphronas, stealing a glance at Crispin; “and I have been accustomed to your tongue since a lad.”
“Ah, that accounts for it. Well, come with me, Count, and I will show you your room. Crispin, Mrs. Dengelton and her daughter are already in the drawing-room, so you had better make haste.”
Crispin went off as quickly as possible, and Maurice hospitably conducted his guest to the room prepared for him, where Roylands’ valet was already spreading out the Count’s evening dress. This duty having been performed, Mr. Roylands hurried away to his guests in the drawing-room, and the Count was left alone with the valet, whom he speedily dismissed.