derful pie, and I come in his name to ask that you will
be so good as to prepare one for his dinner to-day."

Madame Blaken laughed aloud. "Truly said; that is not a bad idea of your
brother's. My pasty is celebrated throughout all Holland, and I have
generally one ready in case a rich or renowned guest should desire it.
But this pie is not for every man!"

"My brother wants it for himself--himself alone," said Balby,
decisively. Even the proud hostess felt his tone imposing.

"Sir," said she, after a short pause, "forgive me if I speak plainly to
you. You wish to eat one of my renowned pies, and to have it served in
a private room, as the General Stadtholder and other high potentates are
accustomed to do. Well, I have this morning a pasty made with truffles
and Chinese birds'--nests, but you cannot have it! To be frank, it is
enormously dear, and I think neither your brother nor yourself could pay
for it!"

And now it was Balby's turn to laugh aloud, and he did so with the
free, unembarrassed gayety of a man who is sure of his position, and is
neither confused nor offended.

Madame Blaken was somewhat provoked by this unrestrained merriment.
"You laugh, sir, but I have good reason for supposing you to be poor and
unknown. You came covered with dust and on foot to my hotel, accompanied
by one servant carrying a small carpet-bag. You have neither equipage,
retinue, nor baggage. You receive no visits; and, as it appears,
make none. You are always dressed in your simple, modest, rather
forlorn-looking brown coats. You have never taken a dinner here, but
pass the day abroad, and when you return in the evening you ask for
a cup of tea and a few slices of bread and butter. Rich people do not
travel in this style, and I therefore have the right to ask if you can
afford to pay for my pasty? I do not know who or what you are, nor your
brother's position In the world."

"Oh," cried Balby who was highly amused by the candor of the hostess,
"my brother has a most distinguished position, I assure you--his fame
resounds throughout Germany."

"Bah!" said Madame Blaken, shrugging her shoulders; "the name is
entirely unknown to us. Pray, what is your brother, and for what is he
celebrated?"

"For his flute," answered Balby, with solemn gravity. Madame Blaken rose
and glanced scornfully at Balby. "Are you mating sport of me, sir?" said
she, threateningly.

"Not in the least, madame; I am telling you an important truth. My
bro