The little scene was not long in playing, however.  Soon the Baronessa swept to her friend’s side, and bore her away, like a large steam-tug making off against wind and tide with a dainty sailing yacht.

Ignoring the subject of the lady; Boy began questioning me about the business of the bag, thanking me again more cordially for what I had done, when I had answered.

“I must have a bath and change now,” said I at last.  “At what time shall we dine?”

“We?  You will be dining with your new friend.”

“She’s an old friend, if one counts by time of acquaintance, and charming, as you’ve seen; still, we’re rather tired perhaps, and not up to dinner pitch.  I’m not sure but we’d get on better alone together, you and I.”

“I’ve taken a private sitting-room, and I’m going to dine there.”

“Will you have me with you?”

“If you like.”

“It will be a good opportunity to get your advice.”

The Boy did not answer; but when we sat at table, and had talked for a while of indifferent things, he said abruptly:  “What were you going to ask me?”

“Your advice as to whether it would be well to fall in love with the little Contessa.”

“Has she money?”

“Hang it all, do you think I’m the kind of man to want a woman for her money?”

“I’ve known you about six days.”

“Don’t hedge.  Can’t six days tell you as much as six years—­such six days as we’ve had?”

“Yes.  It’s true.  I would stake a good deal that you’re not that kind of man.  I don’t know why I said it.  Something hateful made me.  The Contessa is very pretty.  Could you—­fall in love with her?”

“It would be an interesting experiment to try.”

“If you think so, you must already have begun.”

“No, not yet.  I assure you I have an open mind.  But it’s an odd coincidence meeting her like this.  I was making the fact that she has a house at Monte Carlo an excuse for going down there—­sooner or later—­as an end to my journey.  Now, she is to be in Chamounix, and she intends to invite us both, it seems, to visit her in Aix-les-Bains, where she has taken a villa.”

The Boy looked at me suddenly, with a slight start.  “She is going to Chamounix?”

“So she says.”

“And—­she will invite you to visit her at her villa in Aix-les-Bains.”

“You, too.  You said yesterday you wanted to go to Aix, as you had never been; and we planned an expedition by the mule-path up Mont Revard.”

“I know.  But—­but would you visit the Contessa?”

“We might amuse ourselves.  She would be well chaperoned, no doubt by the Baronessa.  There’s a brother of the Baron’s in the background.  Probably he’ll turn up at Aix.  Certainly he will if his relatives have any control over his actions.  He’s no other, it turns out, than Paolo di Nivoli, the young Italian whose airship invention has been made a fuss about lately.  It would be rather a joke to try and cut him out with the Contessa—­if one could.”