r,
industrious, and not given to running after young men." With which he
roared again, and Sigmund surveyed him with a somewhat severe, though
scarcely a disapproving, expression. Karl seated himself near him, and,
though not yet venturing to address him, cast various glances of
blandishment and persuasion upon him.

Half an hour passed thus, and a second knock was followed by the
entrance of Frau Schmidt.

"Good evening, gentlemen," she remarked, in a tone which said
unutterable things--scorn, contempt, pity--all finely blended into a
withering sneer, as she cast her eyes around, and a slight but awful
smile played about her lips. "Half past eight, and that blessed
baby not in bed yet. I knew how it would be. And you all smoking,
too--_natuerlich!_ You ought to know better, Herr Courvoisier--you ought,
at any rate," she added, scorn dropping into heart-piercing reproach.
"Give him to me," she added, taking him from me, and apostrophizing him.
"You poor, blessed lamb! Well for you that I'm here to look after you,
that have had children of my own, and know a little about the sort of
way that you ought to be brought up in."

Evident signs of uneasiness on Karl's part, as Frau Schmidt, with the
same extraordinary contortion of the mouth--half smile, half
sneer--brought Sigmund to his father, to say good-night. That process
over, he was brought to me, and then, as if it were a matter which
"understood itself," to Karl. Eugen and I, like family men, as we were,
had gone through the ceremony with willing grace. Karl backed his chair
a little, looked much alarmed, shot a queer glance at us, at the child,
and then appealingly up into the woman's face. We, through our smoke,
watched him.

"He looks so very--very--" he began.

"Come, come, _mein Herr_, what does that mean? Kiss the little angel,
and be thankful you may. The innocent! You ought to be delighted," said
she, standing with grenadier-like stiffness beside him.

"He won't bite you, Karl," I said, reassuringly. "He's quite harmless."

Thus encouraged, Herr Linders stooped forward and touched the cheek of
the child with his lips; then, as if surprised, stroked it with his
finger.

"_Lieber Himmel!_ how soft! Like satin, or rose leaves!" he murmured, as
the woman carried the child away, shut the door and disappeared.

"Does she tackle you in that way every night?" he inquired next.

"Every evening," said Eugen. "And I little dare open my lips before her.
You w