the beginning of an adventure.”
“Laugh if you please—I really think so. So I will not abandon this bouquet.”
“ Pardieu ,” returned Franz, laughing, “in token of your ingratitude.”
The jest, however, soon appeared to become earnest; for when Albert and Franz again encountered the carriage with the contadini , the one who had thrown the violets to Albert, clapped her hands when she beheld them in his buttonhole.
“Bravo, bravo,” said Franz; “things go wonderfully. Shall I leave you? Perhaps you would prefer being alone?”
“No,” replied he; “I will not be caught like a fool at a first disclosure by a rendezvous under the clock, as they say at the opera-balls. If the fair peasant wishes to carry matters any further, we shall find her, or rather, she will find us tomorrow; then she will give me some sign or other, and I shall know what I have to do.”
“On my word,” said Franz, “you are as wise as Nestor and prudent as Ulysses, and your fair Circe must be very skilful or very powerful if she succeed in changing you into a beast of any kind.”
Albert was right; the fair unknown had resolved, doubtless, to carry the intrigue no farther; for although the young men made several more turns, they did not again see the calash, which had turned up one of the neighboring streets. Then they returned to the Rospoli Palace; but the count and the blue domino had also disappeared; the two windows, hung with yellow damask, were still occupied by the persons whom the count had