nks sufficiently, and
would probably have wished to continue expressing them for some time
longer to the handsome and herculean young man, who had apparently
started out of space to her assistance; but when Claudius had taken a
good look he simply answered--

"Il n'y a pas de quoi, Madame," and bowing low walked off. Perhaps the
least contraction of curiosity was in his eyes; and he would have liked
to know who the lady was who had the crown and the large M carved in the
ivory of her parasol stick. But, after all, he came to the conclusion
that he did not care, and so went strolling down the path, wondering
where he could hide himself if visitors were to infest the Schloss at
this time of year, and in the hottest hours of the day.

"I will leave here to-morrow," he said, "and see if I cannot be more
comfortable in Pontresina." He reached another part of the Schloss, and
sitting down resumed his pipe, which seemed destined to interruptions.

The lady of the parasol had made an impression on Dr. Claudius, for all
his apparent indifference. It was rarely, indeed, nowadays that he
looked at a woman at all; and to-day he had not only looked, but he
owned to himself, now it was past, that he would like to look again. If
he had had any principle in avoiding women during the last few years, he
would not have admitted now that he would like to see her again--just
for one moment. But he had no principle in the matter. It was choice,
and there it ended; and whenever he should take it into his head to
associate with the fair sex again, he would consider it a sign that his
youth had returned, and he would yield without the smallest struggle.
But in this ease--"Pshaw!" thought the humble _privat-docent_, "she is
some great lady, I suppose. How should I make her acquaintance? Oh! I
forgot--I am a millionaire to-day; I have only to ask and it shall be
opened." He smiled to himself, and, with the returning sense of the
power to do what he pleased, the little undefined longing for another
glimpse of the fair stranger subsided for a time.

Then he regretted it. He was sorry it was gone; for while it had been
there he had felt a something telling him he was not old after all, but
only very young--so young that he had never been in love. As a
consequence of his wishing his little rag of sentiment back again, it
came; but artificially this time, and as if expecting to be criticised.
He would contemplate for a space the fair picture that h