know that, since
you know him."

Then she could but laugh outright.

"And I, monsieur," she demanded merrily, "tell me, do you think that I
too shall some day--?"

He looked at her in sudden, earnest anxiety.

"I hope otherwise," he declared fervently.

While talking they had passed the limits of the Quai, crossed the big,
sunny square, and come to the embankment that leads to the foot-bridge.
The emerald-green Reuss rushed beside them with a smooth rapidity which
seemed to hush the tumult of its swift current far underneath the
rippling surface. The old stone light-house--the town's traditionary
godfather--stood sturdily for its rights out in mid-stream, and helped
support the quaint zigzag of that most charming relic of the past, the
longest wooden foot-bridge of Lucerne. A never-ending crowd of all ages
and sexes and conditions of natives and strangers were mounting and
descending its steps, hurrying along its crooked passage, or craning
their necks to study the curious pictures painted in the wooden
triangles of its pointed roof.

"I like the bridge better than I do the Lion," Rosina remarked; "I think
it is much more interesting."

Von Ibn was looking down into the water where they had stopped by the
bridge's steps. He did not pay any attention to what she said, and after
a minute she spoke again.

"What do you think?"

He made no answer. She turned her eyes in the direction of his and
wondered what he was looking at. He appeared to be lost in a study of
the Reuss.

"Do you always think before you speak," she said, somewhat amused, "or
are you doing mental exercises?"

But still no reply.

Then she too kept still. Her eyes wandered to a certain building on her
left, and she reflected that necessity would shortly be driving her
there with her letter of credit; but further reflection called to her
mind the fact that she had intrusted Ottillie with a hundred-franc note
to change that morning, and that would be enough to carry her over
Sunday. The Gare across the water then attracted her attention, and she
reviewed a last week's journey on the St. Gotthard railway, and recalled
the courtesy of a certain Englishman who had raised and lowered her
window not once but perhaps twenty times. And then her gaze fell upon
the skirt of her dress, which was a costume most appropriate for the
Quai but much too delicate for a promiscuous stroll through the town
streets.

"That is superficial!" Von Ibn suddenly d