A dead silence followed her remark, and lasted until Von Ibn broke it, saying abstractedly:
"One does go underground to visit the breweries;" after which he meditated some while longer before adding, "but they never would bolt the doors, I think."
Rosina felt any comment on these words to be unnecessary and continued upon the even tenor of her way. They were close by the Luitpoldbrucke now, and she went towards the bridge, which lay upon their homeward route. Von Ibn followed her lead placidly until they were upon the opposite bank, when he suddenly halted.
"Have you lost something?" she asked, stopping also.
"No, but I asked you some question just now and you have never reply."
"What was it?"
"About believing."
"But I am going so soon," she objected.
"How soon?"
"In December."
"It is then all settled?" he inquired, with interest.
"Yes."
"But you can unsettle it?" he reminded her eagerly.
"I don"t want to unsettle it--I want to go."
He stared at her blankly.
"How have I offended you?" he asked after a while.
"You have not offended me," she said, much surprised.
"But you say that you want to go?"
"That is because I feel that I must go."
"Why must you go? why do you not stay here this winter?--or, hold! why do you not go to Dresden? Later I also must go to Dresden, and it would be so _gemuthlich_, in Dresden together."
"It will be _gemuthlich_ for me to get home, too."
"Do you wish much to go?"
"Yes; I think that I do."
Then she wondered if she was really speaking the truth, and, going to the edge of the bank, looked abstractedly down into the rapid current.
"What do you think?" he asked, following her there.
She turned her face towards him with a smile.
"I cannot help feeling curious as to whether, when I shall really be again in America, I shall know a longing for--for the Isar, or not?"
"I wonder, shall I ever be in America," he said thoughtfully; "and if I ever should come there, where do you think would be for me the most interesting?"
"_Chez moi_," she laughed.
He smiled in amus.e.m.e.nt at her quick answer.
"But I shall never come to America," he went on presently; "I do not think it is a healthy country. I have an uncle who did die of the yellow fever in Chili."
"There is more of America than Chili; that"s in South America--quite another country from mine."
"Yes, I know; your land is where the men had the war with the negroes before they make them all free. I study all that once and find it quite dull."
"The war was between the Northern and Southern States of North America--" she began.
"_ca ne m"interesse du tout_," he broke in; "let us walk on."
They walked on, and there was a lengthy pause in the conversation, because Rosina considered his interruption to be extremely rude and would not broach another subject. They went a long way in the darkness of a heavily clouded September twilight, and finally:
"Where did he buy it?" he asked.
"Where did he buy what? where did who buy what?"
"The monkey."
"Oh! I don"t know, I"m sure."
Then there was another long silence.
"To-morrow," he announced, "I am going to the Tagernsee, and--"
"I"m not," she put in flatly.
He turned his head and stared reprovingly.
"How you have say that! not in the way of good manners at all."
"No," she said, with an air of retort, "I am with you so much that I am beginning to forget all my good manners."
"Am I so bad mannered?"
"Yes, you are."
"How?"
"You interrupt, and you are frank to a degree that is always impolite, and sometimes really awful."