had
evidently been requested by the writer, and for which the thanks were
almost fulsome; and then, by the quietest transition in the world, he
went on to consult her as to the desirability of his marrying some girl
in the place from which he wrote, saying that this Anna Somebody was
only eighteen and very pretty, and her father a well-to-do shopkeeper,
and adding, with coarse coxcombry, his belief that he was not indifferent
to the maiden herself. He wound up by saying that, if this marriage did
take place, he should certainly repay the various sums of money which
Thekla had lent him at different times.

I was some time in making out all this. Thekla held the candle for me to
read it; held it patiently and steadily, not speaking a word till I had
folded up the letter again, and given it back to her. Then our eyes met.

"There is no misunderstanding possible, is there, sir?" asked she, with
a faint smile.

"No," I replied; "but you are well rid of such a fellow."

She shook her head a little. "It shows his bad side, sir. We have all
our bad sides. You must not judge him harshly; at least, I cannot. But
then we were brought up together."

"At Altenahr?"

"Yes; his father kept the other inn, and our parents, instead of being
rivals, were great friends. Franz is a little younger than I, and was a
delicate child. I had to take him to school, and I used to be so proud
of it and of my charge. Then he grew strong, and was the handsomest lad
in the village. Our fathers used to sit and smoke together, and talk of
our marriage, and Franz must have heard as much as I. Whenever he was in
trouble, he would come to me for what advice I could give him; and he
danced twice as often with me as with any other girl at all the dances,
and always brought his nosegay to me. Then his father wished him to
travel, and learn the ways at the great hotels on the Rhine before he
settled down in Altenahr. You know that is the custom in Germany, sir.
They go from town to town as journeymen, learning something fresh
everywhere, they say."

"I knew that was done in trades," I replied.

"Oh, yes; and among inn-keepers, too," she said. "Most of the waiters
at the great hotels in Frankfort, and Heidelberg, and Mayence, and, I
daresay, at all the other places, are the sons of innkeepers in small
towns, who go out into the world to learn new ways, and perhaps to pick
up a little English and French; otherwise, they say, they should never
get on. F