her _neglige_
almost as young and certainly as full of life as the serious Fanny. She
laughed even louder than the two girls at the jests and tricks which
Rosenbusch displayed for their amusement. He was celebrated for his
power of mimicking the whirring of a quail, the cackling of a hen, and
the noise of a saw. He told long and ridiculous stories in different
dialects, and delivered a sermon, with the most solemn pulpit
utterance, in a senseless jargon which he gave out to be English. But
his great masterpiece was a pantomimic scene representing nuns praying
at their nightly devotions. To do this he bound a handkerchief round
his head, and wrapped himself up in a lady's cloak so that only his
eyes, the tip of his nose, and his hands-folded over his breast--were
left visible, and then began with hypocritical zeal and constant change
of expression to roll his eyes and nod his head and murmur over his
rosary, now as an antiquated, dozing nun, who kept dropping off to
sleep between her prayers; now as a deeply contrite and extravagantly
penitent sinner, and again as a well-to-do sister, grown gray in the
convent, who had long since learned to regard the matter from its
practical side, and refrained from unnecessary exertion, but strove
from time to time to keep up her spirits by taking a stolen pinch of
snuff.

This amateur exhibition had worked so irresistibly that even the worthy
godmother nearly lost her balance from laughter, and had to be
supported by Kohle; and it was only when the show had come to an end
that it seemed to strike the conscience of its mischievous author that
he might possibly have offended Elfinger's devout _fiancee_ by this
absurd parody. Whereupon, assuming an air of mock contrition, he begged
a thousand pardons of Fraeulein Fanny, while in secret he reckoned it as
a good work to have given her a foretaste of the joys that awaited her.
Then, as if in penance for his offense, he suddenly began to play the
"_O Sanctissima_" upon his flute, with such beauty and pathos that even
the wild Nanny grew serious, and began to sing a gentle accompaniment,
in which her sister joined.

It rang out sweetly over the lonely, brooding stillness of the lake, so
that they did not end with this first song, but followed each other
with their favorite airs.

Elfinger sang an excellent tenor, and took great pains to make his song
strike home to the heart of his lovely neighbor. The two rowers alone
were dumb, though