ich long custom has since made
me familiar, to take my seat upon it. I humbly tried to decline the
honor, but Anna Sartorius, behind me, whispered:

"Sit down directly, unless you want to be thought an utter barbarian.
The place has been kept for you."

Deeply impressed, and very uncomfortable, I sat down. First one and then
another came and spoke and talked to me. Their questions and remarks
were much in this style:

"Do you like Elberthal? What is your Christian name? How old are you?
Have you been or are you engaged to be married? They break off
engagements in England for a mere trifle, don't they? _Schrecklich!_ Did
you get your dress in Elberthal? What did it cost the _elle_? Young
English ladies wear silk much more than young German ladies. You never
go to the theater on Sunday in England--you are all _pietistisch_. How
beautifully you speak our language! Really no foreign accent!" (This
repeatedly and unblushingly, in spite of my most flagrant mistakes, and
in the face of my most feeble, halting, and stammering efforts to make
myself understood.) "Do you learn music? singing? From whom? Herr von
Francius? _Ach, so!_" (Pause, while they all look impressively at me.
The very name of von Francius calls up emotions of no common order.) "I
believe I have seen you at the proben to the 'Paradise Lost.' Perhaps
you are the lady who is to take the solos? Yes! _Du lieber Himmel!_ What
do you think of Herr von Francius? Is he not nice?" (_Nett_, though,
signifies something feminine and finikin.) "No? How odd! There is no
accounting for the tastes of English women. Do you know many people in
Elberthal? No? _Schade!_ No officers? not Hauptmann Sachse?" (with voice
growing gradually shriller), "nor Lieutenant Pieper? Not know
Lieutenant Pieper! _Um Gotteswillen!_ What do you mean? He is so
handsome! such eyes! such a mustache! _Herrgott!_ And you do not know
him? I will tell you something. When he went off to the autumn maneuvers
at Frankfort (I have it on good authority), twenty young ladies went to
see him off."

"Disgusting!" I exclaimed, unable to control my feelings any longer. I
saw Anna Sartorius malignantly smiling as she rocked herself in an
American rocking-chair.

"How! disgusting? You are joking. He had dozens of bouquets. All the
girls are in love with him. They compelled the photographer to sell them
his photograph, and they all believe he is in love with them. I believe
Luise Breidenstein will die if he do