"Yes; but she speaks English so well that you wouldn't know it. She is
very clever. Her husband is dead."

I laughed involuntarily at the conjunction of these facts, and
Pickering's clear glance seemed to question my mirth. "You have been so
bluntly frank with me," I said, "that I too must be frank. Tell me, if
you can, whether this clever Madame Blumenthal, whose husband is dead,
has given a point to your desire for a suspension of communication with
Smyrna."

He seemed to ponder my question, unshrinkingly. "I think not," he said,
at last. "I have had the desire for three months; I have known Madame
Blumenthal for less than twenty-four hours."

"Very true. But when you found this letter of yours on your place at
breakfast, did you seem for a moment to see Madame Blumenthal sitting
opposite?"

"Opposite?"

"Opposite, my dear fellow, or anywhere in the neighbourhood. In a word,
does she interest you?"

"Very much!" he cried, joyously.

"Amen!" I answered, jumping up with a laugh. "And now, if we are to see
the world in a month, there is no time to lose. Let us begin with the
Hardtwald."

Pickering rose, and we strolled away into the forest, talking of lighter