“I see, the question is avoided; but is not that impolite?”
“Yes; but not so impolite as to ask an embarrassing question.”
“And what would you say if the question was passed on to you?”
“Well, my answer would vary in a ratio with the respect in which I held the questioner. I would not tell the truth, but I should say something. And I am glad to see you attentive to my lessons. Always ask questions, and you will always find me ready to answer, for I want to teach you. And now let us to bed; we have to start for Antibes at an early hour, and love will reward you for the pleasure you have given me to-day.”
At Antibes I hired a felucca to take me to Genoa, and as I intended to return by the same route I had my carriage warehoused for a small monthly payment. We started early with a good wind, but the sea becoming rough, and Rosalie being mortally afraid, I had the felucca rowed into Villafranca, where I engaged a carriage to take me to Nice. The weather kept us back for three days, and I felt obliged to call on the commandant, an old officer named Peterson.
He gave me an excellent reception, and after the usual compliments had passed, said,—
“Do you know a Russian who calls himself Charles Ivanoff?”
“I saw him once at Grenoble.”
“It is said that he has escaped from Siberia, and that he is the younger son of the Duke of Courland.”
“So I have heard, but I know no proof of his claim to the title.”