As George talked, I saw her glance at me, and my vanity was hurt by the thought that, muffled in a fur coat and a neck-wrapper (for it was a chilly April day) and wearing a soft travelling hat pulled down to my ears, I must be looking very far from my best.

A moment later, George rejoined me.
"You've got a charming travelling companion," he said.

"That's poor Bert Bertrand's goddess, Antoinette de Mauban, and, like you, she's going to Dresden--also, no doubt, to see the pictures.

It's very queer, though, that she doesn't at present desire the honour of your acquaintance." "I didn't ask to be introduced," I observed, a little annoyed.
"Well, I offered to bring you to her; but she said, 'Another time.' Never mind, old fellow, perhaps there'll be a smash, and you'll have a chance of rescuing her and cutting out the Duke of Strelsau!" No smash, however, happened, either to me or to Madame de Mauban.

I can speak for her as confidently as for myself; for when, after a night's rest in Dresden, I continued my journey, she got into the same train.
Understanding that she wished to be let alone, I avoided her carefully, but I saw that she went the same way as I did to the very end of my journey, and I took opportunities of having a good look at her, when I could do so unobserved.
As soon as we reached the Ruritanian frontier (where the old officer who presided over the Custom House favoured me with such a stare that I felt surer than before of my Elphberg physiognomy), I bought the papers, and found in them news which affected my movements.