“You are an Englishman?” said the stranger.
“An American.”
“An American! This is singular—will you pardon a question?—You have more than saved my life—you have probably saved my reason—will you pardon a question?—Can money serve you?”
I smiled, and told him, odd as it might appear to him, that though an American, I was a gentleman. He appeared embarrassed, and his fine face worked, until I began to pity him, for it was evident he wished to show me in some way, how much he felt he was my debtor, and yet he did not know exactly what to propose.
“We may meet again,” I said, squeezing his hand.
“Will you receive my card?”
“Most willingly.”
He put “Viscount Householder” into my hand, and in return I gave him my own humble appellation.
He looked from the card to me, and from me to the card, and some agreeable idea appeared to flash upon his mind.
“Shall you visit Geneva this summer?” he asked, earnestly.