"Yes, we will finish it later on; but now it is time to go to Aqua Sola."
The evening had brought with it a little freshness. Many had already left old Genoa for the new part of the city. The streets called Nuova, Nuovissima, Balbi, and Aqua Sola were full of people. The men were dressed more or less in costume, and the women were enveloped in floating white veils which only partly concealed their graceful figures.
The companions walked through the dark, narrow streets until they arrived at the hill, which is the only point of verdure in that city of marble.
"I am very curious," said Ivas, "to know if we shall find many of our late companions at the rendezvous."
"Well, we shall see presently," said Jacob. "A day is long, and human nature changeable." They soon came to the steps which led to the promenade, in whose centre murmured a fountain, near which a fine band sent forth its inspiring strains. The crowd was compact: a Genoese crowd composed of soldiers, workmen, and priests, of sunburnt women, and tourists, among whom were many English. Aqua Sola is not much frequented by the aristocracy, who shut themselves up in their palaces or villas, nor by the bourgeoisie, who have their gardens at Nervi. One, therefore, meets at Aqua Sola two classes only,--the tourists or the regular habitués.
Jacob and Ivas strolled slowly along the principal walk, talking of the country and of the future of humanity. They had not yet noticed the arrival of the phlegmatic German, who had been distinguished for his silence at the Albergo della Grotto; but he soon approached them, and smilingly said: "I am very happy to meet you again, messieurs, and to be able to inquire for our invalid of yesterday. At the same time, I will excuse myself for not remaining long in your society. I have a chance to hire a veturino at half-price to Pisa. I shall have for a companion the privy councillor, Zuckerbeer. We leave to-day."
"What a pity!" cried Jacob in German, not wishing to inflict the French language on his interlocutor, and desiring also to escape torture himself from the execrable pronunciation of the compatriot of Goethe.
"What a pity! We should have had such a pleasant time together this evening."
On hearing his native language, the German beamed on him and smiled; but, in spite of the temptation to remain, he sacrificed pleasure to duty. Order and economy were his two predominant virtues, and the society of the privy councillor would be a consolation.
"The Councillor von Zuckerbeer," said he, "counts on me. I have given him my word; I am, therefore, absolutely obliged to go."