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“Well, now, what are you going to do the rest of the day?” asked the consul at last, with a look at his watch. “As I understand it, you ‘re going to spend it with me, somehow. The question is, how would you like to spend it?”

“This is a handsome offer, Davis; but I don’t see how I’m to manage exactly,” replied the colonel, for the first time distinctly recalling the memory of Mrs. Kenton. “My wife wouldn’t know what had become of me, you know.”

“Oh, yes, she would,” retorted the consul, with a bachelor’s ignorant ease of mind on a point of that kind. “We’ll go round and take her with us.”

The colonel gravely shook his head. “She wouldn’t go, old fellow. She’s in for a day’s rest and odd jobs. I’ll tell you what, I’ll just drop round and let her know I’ve found you, and then come back again. You’ll dine with us, won’t you?” Colonel Kenton had not always found old comradeship a bond between Mrs. Kenton and his friends, but he believed he could safely chance it with Davis, whom she had always rather liked,–with such small regard as a lady’s devotion to her husband leaves her for his friends.

“Oh, I’ll dine with you fast enough,” said his friend. “But why don’t you send a note to Mrs. Kenton to say that we’ll be round together, and save yourself the bother? Did you come here alone?”

“Bless your heart, no! I forgot him. The poor devil’s out there, cooling his heels on your stairs all this time. I came with a complete guide to Vienna. Can’t you let him in out of the weather a minute?”

“We’ll have him in, so that he can take your note back; but he doesn’t expect to be decently treated: they don’t, here. You just sit down and write it,” said the consul, pushing the colonel into his own chair before his desk; and when the colonel had superscribed his note, he called in the Lohndiener,–patient, hat in hand,–and, “Where are you stopping?” he asked the colonel.

“Oh, I forgot that. At the Kaiserin Elisabeth. I’ll just write it”–

“Never mind; we’ll tell him where to take it. See here,” added the consul in a serviceable Viennese German of his own construction. “Take this to the Kaiserin Elisabeth, quick;” and as the man looked up in a dull surprise, “Do you hear? The Kaiserin Elisabeth!”

“I don’t know what it is about that hotel,” said the colonel, when the man had meekly bowed himself away, with a hat that swept the ground in honor of a handsome drink-money; “but the mention of it always seems to awaken some sort of reluctance in the minds of the lower classes. Our driver wanted to enter into conversation with me about it this morning at three o’clock, and I had to be pretty short with him. If you don’t know the language, it isn’t so difficult to be short in German as I’ve heard. And another curious thing is that Bradshaw says the Kaiserin Elisabeth has a table d’hote, and the head-waiter says she hasn’t, and never did have.”

“Oh, you can’t trust anybody in Europe,” said the consul sententiously. “I’d leave Bradshaw and the waiter to fight it out among themselves. We’ll get back in time to order a dinner; it’s always better, and then we can dine alone, and have a good time.”

“They couldn’t keep us from having a good time at a table d’hote, even. But I don’t mind.”

By this time they had got on their hats and coats and sallied forth. They first went to a cafe and had some of that famous Viennese coffee; and then they went to the imperial and municipal arsenals, and viewed those collections of historical bricabrac, including the head of the unhappy Turkish general who was strangled by his sovereign because he failed to take Vienna in 1683. This from familiarity had no longer any effect upon the consul, but it gave Colonel Kenton prolonged pause. “I should have preferred a subordinate position in the sultan’s army, I believe,” he said. “Why, Davis, what a museum we could have had out of the Army of the Potomac alone, if Lincoln had been as particular as that sultan!”