s to go, said nothing, but
twisted up my loose hair, and went back into the large stony room before
spoken of, from which a great noise had been proceeding for some time.

I stood in the door-way and saw Eugen surrounded by other children, in
addition to the one he had first called to him. There were likewise two
dogs, and they--the children, the dogs, and Herr Concertmeister
Courvoisier most of all--were making as much noise as they possibly
could. I paused for a moment to have the small gratification of watching
the scene. One child on his knee and one on his shoulder pulling his
hair, which was all ruffled and on end, a laugh upon his face, a dancing
light in his eyes as if he felt happy and at home among all the little
flaxen heads.

Could he be the same man who had behaved so coldly to me? My heart went
out to him in this kinder moment. Why was he so genial with those
children and so harsh to me, who was little better than a child myself?

His eye fell upon me as he held a shouting and kicking child high in the
air, and his own face laughed all over in mirth and enjoyment.

"Come here, Miss Wedderburn; this is Hans, there is Fritz, and here is
Franz--a jolly trio; aren't they?"

He put the child into his mother's arms, who regarded him with an eye of
approval, and told him that it was not every one who knew how to
ingratiate himself with her children, who were uncommonly spirited.

"Ready?" he asked, surveying me and my costume and laughing. "Don't you
feel a stranger in these garments?"

"No! Why?"

"I should have said silk and lace and velvet, or fine muslins and
embroideries, were more in your style."

"You are quite mistaken. I was just thinking how admirably this costume
suits me, and that I should do well to adopt it permanently."

"Perhaps there was a mirror in the inner room," he suggested.

"A mirror! Why?"

"Then your idea would quite be accounted for. Young ladies must of
course wish to wear that which becomes them."

"Very becoming!" I sneered, grandly.

"Very," he replied, emphatically. "It makes me wish to be an orphan."

"Ah, _mein Herr_," said the woman, reproachfully, for he had spoken
German. "Don't jest about that. If you have parents--"

"No, I haven't," he interposed, hastily.

"Or children either?"

"I should not else have understood yours so well," he laughed. "Come,
my--Miss Wedderburn, if you are ready."

After arranging with the woman that she should dry my things an