the brief remainder of the dinner, but afterward
in the kneip-room, where beer and cigars and hilarious anecdoting
prevailed until about midnight. I am sure that the Emperor's good
night was the only thing he said to me in all that time.

"Was this rebuke studied and intentional? I don't know, but I
regarded it in that way. I can't be absolutely sure of it because
of modifying doubts created afterward by one or two circumstances.
For example: the Empress Dowager invited me to her palace, and the
reigning Empress invited me to breakfast, and also sent for General
von Versen to come to her palace and read to her and her ladies from
my books."

It was a personal message from the Emperor that fourteen years later
recalled to him this curious circumstance. A gentleman whom Clemens knew
went on a diplomatic mission to Germany. Upon being presented to Emperor
William, the latter had immediately begun to talk of Mark Twain and his
work. He spoke of the description of German student life as the greatest
thing of its kind ever written, and of the sketch on the German language
as wonderful; then he said:

"Convey to Mr. Clemens my kindest regards, ask him if he remembers that
dinner at Von Versen's, and ask him why he didn't do any more talking at
that dinner."

It seemed a mysterious message. Clemens thought it might have been meant
to convey some sort of an imperial apology; but again it might have meant
that Mark Twain's breach and the Emperor's coolness on that occasion were
purely imaginary, and that the Emperor had really expected him to talk
far more than he did.

Returning to the Royal Hotel after the Von Versen dinner, Mark Twain
received his second high compliment that day on the Mississippi book. The
portier, a tow-headed young German, must have been comparatively new at
the hotel; for apparently he had just that day learned that his favorite
author, whose books he had long been collecting, was actually present in
the flesh. Clemens, all ready to apologize for asking so late an
admission, was greeted by the portier's round face all sunshine and
smiles. The young German then poured out a stream of welcome and
compliments and dragged the author to a small bedroom near the front
door, where he excitedly pointed out a row of books, German translations
of Mark Twain.

"There," he said; "you wrote them. I've found it out. Lieber Gott! I
did not know it before, and I ask a million