So after a moment’s thought I resolved to accept Furello’s invitation, a decision he received with a satisfaction which was assuredly the only genuine sentiment he had expressed during the interview. Under pretence of making a change in my clothes, I ran up to my room and scribbled a note of excuse to Strode, which the innkeeper undertook to have conveyed to him forthwith. I had my reasons for keeping Strode and Furello apart, at any rate for that day, and had I mentioned my engagement I thought the Count would have insisted on his joining us. Also it will be obvious that there was Von Lindheim’s absence to be accounted for.
I changed my coat, rejoined Furello, and we set out. As I anticipated, he presently remarked, “You have a companion staying with you. Would he not care to join us?” He stopped as though to turn back.
“He is away,” I answered; “staying with a friend some distance from here.”
“Ah!” We walked on. “Your friend is not a countryman of your own?”
“Oh, no,” I returned in a tone of frank confidence; “it is our friend Von Lindheim, of Buyda. He has been dangerously ill, and we thought a change of air and scene would set him up again.”
“No doubt.”
I could not help thinking that my companion was turning over in his mind certain plans for neutralizing the vivifying effect of the Geierthal’s air.
“Your friend returns soon? Yes?”
“I expect him to be with me in a day or two,” was my disingenuous answer; pardonable, I hope, under the circumstances.
“In the meantime I shall hope to supply, however unworthily, his place of companion to you.”