riences, which excited and moved her.

Just then, one day an officer went to the tailor's house, to order some
civilian's clothes. This was not an unusual event in itself, but it was
soon to be the cause of one; for accidentally the daughter of _the
artist in clothes_ came into the shop, just as the officer was leaving
it, and on seeing her, he let go of the door-handle, and asked the
tailor who the young lady was.

"My daughter," the tailor said, proudly.

"May I beg you to introduce me to the young lady, Herr Loewenfuss?" the
hussar said.

"I feel flattered at the honor you are doing me," the tailor replied,
with evident pleasure.

"Fanny, the Captain wishes to make your acquaintance; this is my
daughter, Fanny, Captain ..."

"Captain Count Kasimir W----," the hussar interrupted him, as he went up
to the pretty girl, and paid her a compliment or two. They were very
commonplace, stale, everyday phrases, but in spite of this, they
flattered the girl, intelligent as she was, extremely, because it was a
cavalry officer and a Count to boot who addressed them to her. And when,
at last, the Captain, in the most friendly manner, asked the tailor's
permission to be allowed to visit at the house, both father and daughter
granted it to him most readily.

The very next day Count W---- paid his visit, in full dress uniform, and
when Mamma Loewenfuss made some observations about it, how handsome it
was, and how well it became him, he told them that he should not wear it
much longer, as he intended to quit the service soon, and to look for a
wife, in whom birth and wealth were matters of secondary consideration,
while a good education and a knowledge of domestic matters were of
paramount importance; adding that as soon as he had found one, he meant
to retire to his estates.

From that moment, Papa and Mamma Loewenfuss looked upon the Count as
their daughter's suitor; it is certain that he was madly in love with
Fanny; he used to go to their house every evening, and made himself so
liked by all of them, that the young doctor soon felt himself to be
superfluous, and so his visits became rarer and rarer. The Count
confessed his love to Fanny on a moonlight night, while they were
sitting in an arbor covered with honeysuckle, which formed nearly the
whole of Herr Loewenfuss' garden; he swore that he loved, that he adored
her, and when at last she lay trembling in his arms he tried to take her
by storm, but that bold cavalry-exp