In a German Pension | Page 4

information.
"I fear," he said, "that my luggage will be damp. I invariably carry it
with me in this bag--one requires so little--for servants are
untrustworthy."
"A wise idea," I answered. And then: "Why have you denied us the
pleasure--"
"I sit alone that I may eat more," said the Baron, peering into the dusk;
"my stomach requires a great deal of food. I order double portions, and
eat them in peace."
Which sounded finely Baronial.
"And what do you do all day?"
"I imbibe nourishment in my room," he replied, in a voice that closed
the conversation and almost repented of the umbrella.
When we arrived at the pension there was very nearly an open riot.

I ran half way up the stairs, and thanked the Baron audibly from the
landing.
He distinctly replied: "Not at all!"
It was very friendly of the Herr Oberlehrer to have sent me a bouquet
that evening, and the Frau Oberregierungsrat asked me for my pattern
of a baby's bonnet!
...
Next day the Baron was gone.
Sic transit gloria German mundi.

3. THE SISTER OF THE BARONESS.
"There are two new guests arriving this afternoon," said the manager of
the pension, placing a chair for me at the breakfast table. "I have only
received the letter acquainting me with the fact this morning. The
Baroness von Gall is sending her little daughter--the poor child is
dumb--to make the 'cure.' She is to stay with us a month, and then the
Baroness herself is coming."
"Baroness von Gall," cried the Frau Doktor, coming into the room and
positively scenting the name. "Coming here? There was a picture of her
only last week in 'Sport and Salon.' She is a friend of the court: I have
heard that the Kaiserin says 'du' to her. But this is delightful! I shall
take my doctor's advice and spend an extra six weeks here. There is
nothing like young society."
"But the child is dumb," ventured the manager apologetically.
"Bah! What does that matter? Afflicted children have such pretty
ways."
Each guest who came into the breakfast-room was bombarded with the

wonderful news. "The Baroness von Gall is sending her little daughter
here; the Baroness herself is coming in a month's time." Coffee and
rolls took on the nature of an orgy. We positively scintillated.
Anecdotes of the High Born were poured out, sweetened and sipped:
we gorged on scandals of High Birth generously buttered.
"They are to have the room next to yours," said the manager,
addressing me. "I was wondering if you would permit me to take down
the portrait of the Kaiserin Elizabeth from above your bed to hang over
their sofa."
"Yes, indeed, something homelike"--the Frau Oberregierungsrat patted
my hand--"and of no possible significance to you."
I felt a little crushed. Not at the prospect of losing that vision of
diamonds and blue velvet bust, but at the tone--placing me outside the
pale--branding me as a foreigner.
We dissipated the day in valid speculations. Decided it was too warm
to walk in the afternoon, so lay down on our beds, mustering in great
force for afternoon coffee. And a carriage drew up at the door. A tall
young girl got out, leading a child by the hand. They entered the hall,
were greeted and shown to their room. Ten minutes later she came
down with the child to sign the visitors' book. She wore a black, closely
fitting dress, touched at throat and wrists with white frilling. Her brown
hair, braided, was tied with a black bow--unusually pale, with a small
mole on her left cheek.
"I am the Baroness von Gall's sister," she said, trying the pen on a piece
of blotting-paper, and smiling at us deprecatingly. Even for the most
jaded of us life holds its thrilling moments. Two Baronesses in two
months! The manager immediately left the room to find a new nib.
To my plebeian eyes that afflicted child was singularly unattractive.
She had the air of having been perpetually washed with a blue bag, and
hair like grey wool--dressed, too, in a pinafore so stiffly starched that
she could only peer at us over the frill of it--a social barrier of a
pinafore--and perhaps it was too much to expect a noble aunt to attend

to the menial consideration of her niece's ears. But a dumb niece with
unwashed ears struck me as a most depressing object.
They were given places at the head of the table. For a moment we all
looked at one another with an eena-deena-dina-do expression. Then the
Frau Oberregierungsrat:
"I hope you are not tired after your journey."
"No," said the sister of the Baroness, smiling into her cup.
"I hope the dear child is not tired," said the Frau Doktor.
"Not at all."
"I