r two to give it color. It rose
even above the blue tobacco haze and dominated the atmosphere with
its spicy and stimulating richness. A bustle of waiters, a hum of
conversation, the rattle of newspapers and the click of billiard
balls--this was the coffee-house.

Harmony had never been inside one before. The little music colony had
been a tight-closed corporation, retaining its American integrity, in
spite of the salon of Maria Theresa and three expensive lessons a week
in German. Harmony knew the art galleries and the churches, which were
free, and the opera, thanks to no butter at supper. But of that backbone
of Austrian life, the coffee-house, she was profoundly ignorant.

Her companion found her a seat in a corner near a heater and disappeared
for an instant on the search for the Paris edition of the "Herald." The
girl followed him with her eyes. Seen under the bright electric lights,
he was not handsome, hardly good-looking. His mouth was wide, his nose
irregular, his hair a nondescript brown,--but the mouth had humor, the
nose character, and, thank Heaven, there was plenty of hair. Not that
Harmony saw all this at once. As he tacked to and fro round the tables,
with a nod here and a word there, she got a sort of ensemble effect--a
tall man, possibly thirty, broadshouldered, somewhat stooped, as tall
men are apt to be. And shabby, undeniably shabby!

The shabbiness was a shock. A much-braided officer, trim from the points
of his mustache to the points of his shoes, rose to speak to him. The
shabbiness was accentuated by the contrast. Possibly the revelation
was an easement to the girl's nervousness. This smiling and unpressed
individual, blithely waving aloft the Paris edition of the "Herald" and
equally blithely ignoring the maledictions of the student from whom
he had taken it--even Scatchy could not have called him a vulture or
threatened him with the police.

He placed the paper before her and sat down at her side, not to
interfere with her outlook over the room.

"Warmer?" he asked.

"Very much."

"Coffee is coming. And cinnamon cakes with plenty of sugar. They know me
here and they know where I live. They save the sugariest cakes for me.
Don't let me bother you; go on and read. See which of the smart set is
getting a divorce--or is it always the same one? And who's President
back home."

"I'd rather look round. It's curious, isn't it?"

"Curious? It's heavenly! It's the one thing I am going to tak