red in
her walking costume.

The daylight had faded, and the evening was in its softest, most
ethereal mood. The moon was drifting lazily among the light summer
clouds, gazing down upon the many-voiced tumult of the crowded city,
with that calm philosophic abstraction which always characterizes the
moon, as if she, up there in her airy heights, were so infinitely
exalted above all the distracting problems and doubts that harass our
poor human existence. We entered a concert garden, which was filled
with gayly dressed pleasure seekers; somewhere under the green roof of
the trees an orchestra was discoursing strains of German music to a
Teutonic audience.

"_Donnerwetter_!" said Pfeifer, enthusiastically; "that is the
symphony in _E flat_; pretty well rendered too. Only hear that"--and
he began to whistle the air softly, with lively gesticulations "Come,
let us go nearer and listen."

"No, let us stay here, uncle," remonstrated Hildegard. "I don't think
it is quite nice to go so near. They are drinking beer there, and
there are so many horrible people."

"Nonsense, child! Where did you get all those silly whims from? Where
it is respectable for your uncle to go, I am sure it won't hurt you to
follow."

We made our way through the throng, and stationed ourselves under a
tree, from which we had a full survey of the merry company, seated at
small tables, with huge foam-crowned mugs of beer before them.
Suddenly a voice, somewhat louder than the rest, disentangled itself
from the vague, inarticulate buzz, which filled the air about us.
Swift as a flash my eyes darted in the direction from which the voice
came. There, within a few dozen steps from us, sat Dannevig between
two gaudily attired women; another man was seated at the opposite side
of the table, and between them stood a couple of bottles and several
half-filled glasses. The sight was by no means new to me, and still,
in that moment, it filled me with unspeakable disgust. The knight of
Dannebrog was as charmingly free-and-easy as if he were nestled
securely in the privacy of his own fireside; his fine plumes were
deplorably ruffled, his hat thrust back, and his hair hanging in
tangled locks down over his forehead; his eyes were heavy, and a smile
of maudlin happiness played about his mouth.

"Now, don't make yourself precious, my dear," he was saying, laying
his arm affectionately around the waist of the woman on his right. "I
like German kisses. I speak from