Then I turn my steps homeward.
At a narrow street-corner, in the grateful shade cast by some tall houses, I come face to face with him again.
"Did not you wonder where I had disappeared to ?" he asks; "or perhaps you never noticed that I had ?" He is panting a little, as if he had been running, or walking fast.
"I thought that most likely you had taken offense again," reply I, with a laugh, "and that I had lost sight of you for three more days." "I have been to the Hotel de Saxe," he replies, with a rather triumphant smile on his handsome mustacheless lips.

"I thought I would find out about Loschwitz." "Find out _what_ ?" cry I, standing still, raising my voice a little, and growing even redder than the sun, the flies, the brown-paper parcel, and the heavy umbrella, have already made me.

"There was nothing to find out! I wish you would leave things alone; I wish you would let me manage my own business." The smile disappears rather rapidly.
"You have not been telling the general," continue I, in a tone of rapid apprehension, "that I did not want to go with him?
because, if you have, it was a great, great _mistake_." "I told him nothing of the kind," replies Mr.Musgrave, looking, like me, fierce, but--unlike me--cool and pale.

"I was not so inventive.

I merely suggested that sunstroke would most likely be your portion if you went now, and that it would be quite as easy, and a great deal pleasanter, to go three hours later." "Yes?
and he said--what ?" "He was foolish enough to agree with me." We are standing in a little quiet street, all shade and dark shops.
There are very few passers-by.