Next day I had a very unpleasant interview with my guardian. I had not only insulted Von Lichtenberg, it seems, but I had also hit the convenances a foul blow. Hit them below the belt, in fact.
"Ah, yes," said the old gentleman, "I try to do the best for you, and see your return! In my own house, too! And to receive the message that you were dining out only an hour before he was expected, giving me no time to make excuses!"
"What did he say?" I asked.
"Say!" burst out M. le Vicomte. "He said nothing. Ah, if I had been in his place! But, no. He only looked sad and depressed. Had he been a girl instead of a man, a girl in love with you, monsieur, he could not have taken the matter with more quietness or with more sad restraint. Say! Ah, yes, I will tell you what he said, what we said. I will give you the dialogue:
"'I had hoped to meet someone else.' That was what he said.
"And I: 'Alas! monsieur, Fate has ordained us to a solitude à deux.'
"I did not mention your name, monsieur, for in mentioning your name I would have mentioned a person who had disgraced me."
"Very well," said I. "I will disgrace you no longer. I will leave Paris to-morrow, and go to Nice."
This determination I carried out next day.
Now, under the tragic cloak of the story, under all these evasions of mine and this pursuit of Von Lichtenberg, there lay a lovely comedy, of which I, one of the chief actors, was utterly ignorant of the motive and the extraordinary dénouement. But this, if you have not guessed it, you will see presently.