I was no less astounded than they.
We stood and stared at each other for some time, to make sure that we were not dreaming.
M. Charnot was the first to break the silence. He did not seem altogether pleased at my appearance, and turned to his daughter, whose face had grown very red and yet rather chilling:
“Jeanne, put your hat on; it is time to go to the station.” Then he addressed me:
“We shall leave you the room to yourself, sir; and since the most extraordinary coincidence”—he emphasized the words—“has brought you to this damnable village, I hope you will enjoy your visit.”
“Have you been here long, Monsieur?”
“Two hours, Monsieur, two mortal hours in this inn, fried by the sun, bored to death, murdered piecemeal by flies, and infuriated by the want of hospitality in this out-of-the-way hole in Lombardy.”
“Yes, I noticed that the host was nowhere to be seen, and that is the reason why I came in here; I had no idea that I should have the honor of meeting you.”
“Good God! I’m not complaining of him! He’s asleep in his barn over there. You can wake him up; he doesn’t mind showing himself; he even makes himself agreeable when he has finished his siesta.”
“I only wish to ask him one question, which perhaps you could answer, Monsieur; then I need not waken him. Could you tell me the way to the Villa Dannegianti?”