ally with Euterpe, loveliest of the Muses. To-night,
however, her invitations had not been so restricted, for she had asked
some other families to come, largely for the laudable purpose of
admiring the musical achievements of the "artists."

Here she placed a chair in its proper place; there she smoothed with
tapering fingers one or the other of the tidies, products of her own
skilful needle, which, in every hue and size, adorned the furniture.
She tested the various lamps; opened and shut piano and parlor organ
to convince herself of the absence of dust; and finally minutely
inspected sundry vases, deftly manipulating their lovely contents, so
that each flower and each enfolding leaf stood out to greatest
advantage. This was one of her specialties. At none of her parties,
even in mid-winter, was there a lack of tastefully grouped nosegays
and bits of green on mantel and corner brackets.

Frau Clara was a woman of about thirty, with a well-proportioned
figure and a rather pretty, rosy face. Her lively blue eyes and a
wealth of well-groomed hair combined to give her a look of pleasant
youthfulness.

These last touches done, she seated herself on a low stool, for her
thoughts pronounced it all good.

And now the heavy drapery was thrust aside, and her husband
appeared--a tall man with a black moustache. He, too, came to attend
to his share of the preparations. He lit up the chandelier. Usually he
gauged the number of gas jets lit by the number of guests expected,
one for each. But inasmuch as there were only five jets and about a
dozen guests to come, he indulged in the luxury of igniting them all.
He did this with various groans at the latest outrageous gas bill, and
next inspected the stoves. Then he also sank down into a seat.

Albrecht Koenig was captain in the cavalry regiment quartered in the
town. His squadron was always in apple-pie order, for he devoted to it
his entire energy during waking hours. Brief intervals of leisure he
filled by glancing at the _Deutsche Zeitung_, studying the
money-market reports, toiling in the large garden behind the house,
which he always kept in almost as good order as his squadron, and
superintending his hennery, the useful output of which he sold to his
wife at more than current prices.[1] And if there was nothing else to
do, he had scientific skirmishes with his nine-year-old, attended
wine-tests,[2] or practised on the piano, an instrument which he
played almost as well as