Clairmont galloped in front of us and went off. Clementine pretended to be astonished, but her sister looked as if she had known something of our destination before. All care, however, had disappeared, and the highest spirits prevailed. We stopped at a village half-way between St. Angelo and Milan to blow the horses, and everybody got down.
“What will my wife say?” asked the count.
“Nothing, for she will not know anything about it, and if she does I am the only guilty party. You are to dine with me in a suite of rooms which I have occupied incognito since I have been at Milan; for you will understand that I could not have my wants attended to at your house, where the place is already taken.”
“And how about Zenobia?”
“Zenobia was a lucky chance, and is a very nice girl, but she would not suffice for my daily fare.”
“You are a lucky fellow!”
“I try to make myself comfortable.”
“My dear husband,” said the Countess Ambrose, “you proposed a visit to Milan two years ago, and the chevalier proposed it a few hours ago, and now we are on our way.”
“Yes, sweetheart, but my idea was that we should spend a month there.”
“If you want to do that,” said I, “I will see to everything.”