England, in your 'boarding 'ouse', one does not find the First
Class, as in Germany."

"No, indeed," I replied, still hypnotised by the Baron, who looked like
a little yellow silkworm.

"The Baron comes every year," went on the Herr Oberlehrer, "for his
nerves. He has never spoken to any of the guests--YET!" A smile crossed
his face. I seemed to see his visions of some splendid upheaval of that
silence--a dazzling exchange of courtesies in a dim future, a splendid
sacrifice of a newspaper to this Exalted One, a "danke schon" to be
handed down to future generations.

At that moment the postman, looking like a German army officer, came in
with the mail. He threw my letters into my milk pudding, and then turned
to a waitress and whispered. She retired hastily. The manager of the
pension came in with a little tray. A picture post card was deposited on
it, and reverently bowing his head, the manager of the pension carried
it to the Baron.

Myself, I felt disappointed that there was not a salute of twenty-five
guns.

At the end of the meal we were served with coffee. I noticed the Baron
took three lumps of sugar, putting two in his cup and wrapping up the
third in a corner of his pocket-handkerchief. He was always the first
to enter the dining-room and the last to leave; and in a vacant chair
beside him he placed a little black leather bag.

In the afternoon, leaning from my window, I saw him pass down the
street, walking tremulously and carrying the bag. Each time he passed a
lamp-post he shrank a little, as though expecting it to strike him, or
maybe the sense of plebeian contamination...

I wondered where he was going, and why he carried the bag. Never had I
seen him at the Casino or the Bath Establishment. He looked forlorn, his
feet slipped in his sandals. I found myself pitying the Baron.

That evening a party of us were gathered in the salon discussing the
day's "kur" with feverish animation. The Frau Oberregierungsrat sat by
me knitting a shawl for her youngest of nine daughters, who was in
that very interesting, frail condition... "But it is bound to be quite
satisfactory," she said to me. "The dear married a banker--the desire of
her life."

There must have been eight or ten of us gathered together, we who were
married exchanging confidences as to the underclothing and peculiar
characteristics of our husbands, the unmarried discussing the
over-clothing and peculiar fascinations of Possible Ones.

"I kni