t them myself," I heard the Frau Lehrer cry, "of thick grey wool.
He wears one a month, with two soft collars."

"And then," whispered Fraulein Lisa, "he said to me, 'Indeed you please
me. I shall, perhaps, write to your mother.'"

Small wonder that we were a little violently excited, a little
expostulatory.

Suddenly the door opened and admitted the Baron.

Followed a complete and deathlike silence.

He came in slowly, hesitated, took up a toothpick from a dish on the top
of the piano, and went out again.

When the door was closed we raised a triumphant cry! It was the first
time he had ever been known to enter the salon. Who could tell what the
Future held?

Days lengthened into weeks. Still we were together, and still the
solitary little figure, head bowed as though under the weight of the
spectacles, haunted me. He entered with the black bag, he retired with
the black bag--and that was all.

At last the manager of the pension told us the Baron was leaving the
next day.

"Oh," I thought, "surely he cannot drift into obscurity--be lost without
one word! Surely he will honour the Frau Oberregierungsrat of the Frau
Feldleutnantswitwe ONCE before he goes."

In the evening of that day it rained heavily. I went to the post office,
and as I stood on the steps, umbrellaless, hesitating before plunging
into the slushy road, a little, hesitating voice seemed to come from
under my elbow.

I looked down. It was the First of the Barons with the black bag and an
umbrella. Was I mad? Was I sane? He was asking me to share the
latter. But I was exceedingly nice, a trifle diffident, appropriately
reverential. Together we walked through the mud and slush.

Now, there is something peculiarly intimate in sharing an umbrella.

It is apt to put one on the same footing as brushing a man's coat for
him--a little daring, naive.

I longed to know why he sat alone, why he carried the bag, what he did
all day. But he himself volunteered some 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 no