“By all means. You may count upon me.”
“And you upon me. But when are you to be ‘turned off’ as these Britishers term it?”
“Next Thursday, at eleven o’clock.”
“Thursday at eleven o’clock?” repeated the Count in surprise. “Why, that’s the very day and hour I am myself to be made a benedict of! Sacré Dieu! We’ll both be engaged in the same business then at the same time! We won’t be able to assist one another!”
“A strange coincidence!” remarked Maynard; “very awkward too!”
“Peste! isn’t it? What a pity we couldn’t pull together?”
Of the hundreds of churches contained in the great city of London, it never occurred to either, that they might be married in the same.
“What’s to be done, cher capitaine?” asked the Austrian. “I’m a stranger here, and don’t know a soul—that is, enough for this! And you—although speaking the language—appear to be not much better befriended! What’s to be done for both of us?”
Maynard was amused at the Count’s perplexity. Stranger as he was, he had no fears for himself. In the great world of London he knew of more than one who would be willing to act as his groomsman—especially with a baronet’s daughter for the bride!
“Stay!” cried Roseveldt, after reflecting. “I have it! There’s Count Ladislaus Teleky. He’ll do for me. And there’s—there’s his cousin, Count Francis! Why shouldn’t he stand up for you? I know you are friends. I’ve seen you together.”