There was an emotion in the last words that more than compensated for what preceded them. It was the genuine sorrow that loneliness ever impresses on certain natures; but Calvert read the sentiment as a tribute to himself, and hastily said, “No, no, you are all wrong. The very disparities you complain of are the bonds between us. The differences in our temperament are the resources by which the sphere of our observation will be widened--my scepticism will be the corrector of your hopefulness--and, as to means, take my word for it, nobody can be harder up than I am, and if you’ll only keep the bag, and limit the outgoings, I’ll submit to any shortcomings when you tell me they are savings.” “Are you serious--downright in earnest in all this?” asked Loyd. “So serious, that I propose our bargain should begin from this hour. We shall each of us place ten Napoleons in that bag of yours. You shall administer all outlay, and I bind myself to follow implicitly all your behests, as though I were a ward and you my guardian.” “I’m not very confident about the success of the scheme. I see many difficulties already, and there may be others that I cannot foresee; still, I am willing to give it a trial.” “At last I realise one of my fondest anticipations which was to travel without the daily recurring miseries of money reckoning.” “Don’t take those cigars, they are supplied by the waiter, and cost two groschen each, and they sell for three groschen a dozen in the Platz;” and, so saying, Loyd removed the plate from before him in a quiet business-like way, that promised well for the spirit is which his trust would be exercised. Calvert laughed as he laid down the cigar, but his obedience ratified the pact between them. “When do we go from this?” asked he, in a quiet and half-submissive tone. “Oh, come, this is too much!” said Loyd. “I undertook to be purser, but not pilot.” “Well, but I insist upon your assuming all the cares of legislation. It is not alone that I want not to think of the cash; but I want to have no anxieties about the road we go, where we halt, and when we move on. I want, for once in my life, to indulge the glorious enjoyment of perfect indolence--such another chance will scarcely offer itself.” “Be it so. Whenever you like to rebel, I shall be just as ready to abdicate. I’ll go to my room now and study the map, and by the time you have finished your evening’s stroll on the bridge, I shall have made the plan of our future wanderings.” “Agreed!” said Calvert. “I’m off to search for some of those cheap cigars you spoke of.” “Stay; you forget that you have not got any money. Here are six silver groschen; take two dozen, and see that they don’t give you any of those vile Swiss ones in the number.” He took the coin with becoming gravity, and set out on his errand. CHAPTER III. FELLOW-TRAVELLERS’ LIFE