“Are you bound for Italy?” said the major, in a most un-English fit of curiosity. “For Geneva first, Italy later, unless Montreaux is mild enough for me to winter in. I go to satisfy my friends, but doubt if it avails much.” “Where is Montreaux?” asked Amy. “Near Clarens, where Rousseau wrote his Heloise, and Vevay, where so many English go to enjoy Chillon. The climate is divine for unfortunates like myself, and life more cheap there than in Italy.” Here the train stopped again, and Hoffman came to ask if the ladies desired anything. At the sound of his voice the young Pole started, looked up, and exclaimed, with the vivacity of a foreigner, in German,— “By my life, it is Karl! Behold me, old friend, and satisfy me that it is thyself by a handshake.” “Casimer! What wind blows thee hither, my boy, in such sad plight?” replied Hoffman, grasping the slender hand outstretched to him. “I fly from an enemy for the first time in my life, and, like all cowards, shall be conquered in the end. I wrote thee I was better, but the wound in the breast reopened, and nothing but a miracle will save me. I go to Switzerland; and thou?” “Where my master commands. I serve this gentleman, now.” “Hard changes for both, but with health thou art king of circumstances, while I?—Ah well, the good God knows best. Karl, go thou and buy me two of those pretty baskets of grapes; I will please myself by giving them to these pitying angels. Speak they German?” “One, the elder; but they understand not this rattle of ours.” Karl disappeared, and Helen, who _had_ understood the rapid dialogue, tried to seem as unconscious as Amy. “Say a friendly word to me at times; I am so homesick and faint-hearted, my Hoffman. Thanks; they are almost worthy the lips that shall taste them.” Taking the two little osier baskets, laden with yellow and purple clusters, Casimer offered them, with a charming mixture of timidity and grace, to the girls, saying, like a grateful boy,— “You give me kind words and good hopes; permit that I thank you in this poor way.” “I drink success to Poland,” cried Helen, lifting a great, juicy grape to her lips, like a little purple goblet, hoping to hide her confusion under a playful air. The grapes went round, and healths were drunk with much merriment, for in travelling on the Continent it is impossible for the gruffest, primmest person to long resist the frank courtesy and vivacious chat of foreigners.