re his hair, he swore at her, and I believe, he even struck
her; but when the next child was born,--a particularly wonderful
one,--Mrs. Hahn had not the strength to resist the temptation of
knowing how the new-born wonder would impress the Countess von
Markenstein. Another terrible scene followed. The poor woman could
never understand that she was no longer the wife of a waiter, and that
she must not be paying visits to the great folks in their kitchens.

Another source of disturbance in Mr. Hahn's matrimonial relations was
his wife's absolute refusal to appear in the parquet or the proscenium
boxes in the theatre. In this matter her resistance bordered on the
heroic; neither threats nor entreaties could move her.

"Law, Julius," she would say, while the tears streamed down over her
plump cheeks, "the parquet and the big boxes are for the gentlefolks,
and not for humble people like you and me. I know my place, Julius,
and I don't want to be the laughing-stock of the town, as I should be,
if I went to the opera and sat where my lady the Countess, and the
other fine ladies sit. I should feel like a fool, too, Julius, and I
should cry my eyes out when I got home."

It may easily be conjectured that Mr. Hahn's mourning covered a very
light heart when the dropsy finally carried off this loving but
troublesome spouse. Nor did he make any secret of the fact that her
death was rather a relief to him, while on the other hand he gave her
full credit for all her excellent qualities. Fritz, who was in cordial
sympathy with his father's ambition for social eminence, had also
learned from him to be ashamed of his mother, and was rather inclined
to make light of the sorrow which he actually felt, when he saw the
cold earth closing over her.

At the time when he made his summer excursion in the Tyrol, Fritz was
a stout blond youth of two and twenty. His round, sleek face was not
badly modelled, but it had neither the rough openness, characteristic
of a peasant, nor yet that indefinable finish which only culture can
give. In spite of his jaunty, fashionable attire, you would have put
him down at once as belonging to what in the Old World is called "the
middle class." His blue eyes indicated shrewdness, and his red cheeks
habitual devotion to the national beverage. He was apparently a youth
of the sort that Nature is constantly turning out by the
thousand--mere weaker copies of progenitors, who by an unpropitious
marriage have enfeeb