"Monsieur, the Marquis de Maulear does not stop in the embassy. His apartments were too small for two."
The Swiss, enchanted by this reply, which he thought eminently witty, bowed to the traveller, and was about to return to his chair, when the old man again called him:
"But, my fine fellow," said he to the Helvetian, "you have not yet told me where the Marquis does live."
"The Marquis de Maulear," said the Swiss, "is in the palace of Cellamare, where he rented a pavilion near the gardens of the Villa-Reale."
"To the palace Cellamare," said the traveller to the postillion; and the latter drove off at a gallop.
After about five minutes the same powdered head appeared at the door, and the traveller said, "Hollo! postillion, stop; do you hear, rascal; pull up."
"What does your excellency, sir?" asked the postillion.
"Take my excellency to the best Hotel in Naples."
"The best is la Vittoria, between the bay and Villa Reale."
The postillion lied, for le Crocelle was better; but at la Vittoria they received two piastres a piece for travellers, and at le Crocelle got nothing. The Vittoria, then, was the best hotel in Naples for postillions, but not for travellers. The apartments of the Marquis de Maulear, the witty Swiss had told him, were too small for two; and this information had induced him thus suddenly to change his plan. The traveller thought the Marquis might have yielded to some tender influence, and contracted a quasi morganatique marriage as a prelude to more serious ties. "If that be so," said the stranger, "it would be wrong to go to the Marquis's house. I do not wish to surprise him by a simple visit which would not have the effect of a solemn interview."