p-keeper came into my mind. His cap lay upon the table beside us,
one of the little gray Studentenmutzen with which Elberthal soon made me
familiar, but which struck me then as odd and outlandish. I grew every
moment more interested in my scrutiny of this, to me, fascinating and
remarkable face, and had forgotten to try to look as if I were not
looking, when he looked up suddenly, without warning, with those bright,
formidable eyes, which had already made me feel somewhat shy as I caught
them fixed upon me.

"_Nun_, have you decided?" he asked, with a humorous look in his eyes,
which he was too polite to allow to develop itself into a smile.

"I--oh, I beg your pardon!"

"You do not want to," he answered, in imperfect idiom. "But have you
decided?"

"Decided what?"

"Whether I am to be trusted?"

"I have not been thinking about that," I said, uncomfortably, when to my
relief the appearance of the waiter with preparations for a meal saved
me further reply.

"What shall we call this meal?" he asked, as the waiter disappeared to
bring the repast to the table. "It is too late for the _Mittagessen_,
and too early for the _Abendbrod_. Can you suggest a name?"

"At home it would be just the time for afternoon tea."

"Ah, yes! Your English afternoon tea is very--" He stopped suddenly.

"Have you been in England?"

"This is just the time at which we drink our afternoon coffee in
Germany," said he, looking at me with his impenetrably bright eyes, just
as if he had never heard me. "When the ladies all meet together to talk
scan--_O, behuete!_ What am I saying?--to consult seriously upon
important topics, you know. There are some low-minded persons who call
the whole ceremony a Klatsch--Kaffeeklatsch. I am sure you and I shall
talk seriously upon important subjects, so suppose we call this our
Kaffeeklatsch, although we have no coffee to it."

"Oh, yes, if you like."

He put a piece of cutlet upon my plate, and poured yellow wine into my
glass. Endeavoring to conduct myself with the dignity of a grown-up
person and to show that I did know something, I inquired if the wine
were hock.

He smiled. "It is not Hochheimer--not Rheinwein at all--he--no, it, you
say--it is Moselle wine--'Doctor.'"

"Doctor?"

"Doctorberger; I do not know why so called. And a very good fellow
too--so say all his friends, of whom I am a warm one. Try him."

I complied with the admonition, and was able to say that I liked
Doctorberger.