There was, as a matter of fact, no reason in the world why I should have agreed to this suggestion of Alresca’s.  As he himself had said, we were strangers, and I was under no obligation to him of any kind.

Yet at once I felt an impulse to accept his proposal.  Whence that impulse sprang I cannot say.  Perhaps from the aspect of an adventure that the affair had.  Perhaps from the vague idea that by attaching myself to Alresca I should be brought again into contact with Rosetta Rosa.  Certainly I admired him immensely.  None who knew him could avoid doing so.  Already, indeed, I had for him a feeling akin to affection.

“I see by your face,” he said, “that you are not altogether unwilling.  You accept?”

“With pleasure;” and I smiled with the pleasure I felt.

But it seemed to me that I gave the answer independently of my own volition.  The words were uttered almost before I knew.

“It is very good of you.”

“Not at all,” I said.  “I have made no plans, and therefore nothing will be disarranged.  Further, I count it an honor; and, moreover, your ’case’—­pardon the word—­interests me deeply.  Where do you wish to go?”

“To Bruges, of course.”

He seemed a little surprised that I should ask the question.

“Bruges,” he went on, “that dear and wonderful old city of Flanders, is the place of my birth.  You have visited it?”

“No,” I said, “but I have often heard that it is the most picturesque city in Europe, and I should like to see it awfully.”

“There is nothing in the world like Bruges,” he said.  “Bruges the Dead they call it; a fit spot in which to die.”

“If you talk like that I shall reconsider my decision.”

“Pardon, pardon!” he laughed, suddenly wearing an appearance of gaiety.  “I am happier now.  When can we go?  To-morrow?  Let it be to-morrow.”

“Impossible,” I said.  “The idea of a man whose thigh was broken less than a fortnight since taking a sea voyage to-morrow!  Do you know that under the most favorable circumstances it will be another five or six weeks before the bone unites, and that even then the greatest care will be necessary?”

His gaiety passed.

“Five more weeks here?”

“I fear so.”

“But our agreement shall come into operation at once.  You will visit me daily?  Rather, you will live here?”

“If it pleases you.  I am sure I shall be charmed to live here.”

“Let the time go quickly—­let it fly!  Ah, Mr. Foster, you will like Bruges.  It is the most dignified of cities.  It has the picturesqueness of Nuremburg, the waterways of Amsterdam, the squares of Turin, the monuments of Perugia, the cafes of Florence, and the smells of Cologne.  I have an old house there of the seventeenth century; it is on the Quai des Augustins.”

“A family affair?” I questioned.

“No; I bought it only a few years ago from a friend.  I fear I cannot boast of much family.  My mother made lace, my father was a schoolmaster.  They are both dead, and I have no relatives.”