h elegant display in shop-windows
before and it astonished me as I noticed that there were paved sidewalks
reserved for pedestrians. They must be all fine lords who live in this
city.

Mr. Fromm, the baker, to whose house I was to be taken, had informed us
that we need not go to an hotel as he had room for all of us, and would
gladly welcome us, especially as the expense of the journey was borne by
us. We found his residence by following the written address. He owned a
fine four-storied house in the Fuersten allee,[6] with his open shop in
front on the sign of which peaceful lions were painted in gold holding
rolls and cakes between their teeth.

[Footnote 6: Princes avenue.]

Mr. Fromm himself was waiting for us outside his shop door, and hastened
to open the carriage door himself. He was a round-faced, portly little
man, with a short black moustache, black eyebrows, and close-cropped,
thick, flour-white hair. The good fellow helped grandmother to alight
from the carriage: shook hands with Lorand, and began to speak to them
in German: when I alighted, he put his hand on my head with a peculiar
smile:

"Iste puer?"

Then he patted me on the cheeks.

"Bonus, bonus."

His addressing me in Latin had two advantages; firstly, as I could not
speak German, nor he Magyar, this use of a neutral tongue removed all
suspicions of our being deaf and dumb; secondly, it at once inspired me
with a genuine respect for the honest fellow, who had dabbled in the
sciences, and had, beyond his technical knowledge of his own business,
some acquaintance with the language of Cicero. Mr. Fromm made room for
grandmother and Lorand to pass before him up a narrow stone staircase,
while he kept his hand continuously on my head, as if that were the part
of me by which he could best hold me.

"Veni puer. Hic puer secundus, filius meus."

So there was a boy in the house, a new terror for me.

"Est studiosus."

What, that boy! That was good news: we could go to school together.

"Meus filius magnus asinus."

That was a fine acknowledgment from a father.

"Nescit pensum nunquam scit."

Then he discontinued to speak of the young student, and pantomimically
described something, from which I gathered that "meus filius," on this
occasion was condemned to starve, until he had learnt his lessons, and
was confined to his room.

This was no pleasant idea to me.

Well, and what about "mea filia?"

I had never seen a house that was like Mr