Herr." The waiter continued his work.

So Herr Carmichael lived here. That would be convenient. Grumbach
decided to wait for him. He had seen enough of men to know if he could
trust the consul. He glared at the amber-gold in the glass, took a
vigorous swallow, and smacked his lips. A sentimental old fool; he was
neither more nor less.

The wait for Carmichael was short. The American consul came along with
energetic stride. He had been to the earlier maneuvers, and aside from
coffee and bacon he had had no breakfast. The ride and the cold air of
morning had made him ravenous. Grumbach rose and caught Carmichael by
the arm.

"Your pardon, sir," he said in good English, "but you are Mr.
Carmichael, the American consul?"

"I am."

"Will you kindly look over my papers?" Grumbach asked.

"You are from the United States?" Then Carmichael remembered that this
must be the compatriot who arrived the night before. "I shall be very
glad to see you in the Adlergasse at half after ten. It is one flight
up, next door to the Black Eagle. Any one will show you the way. I
haven't breakfasted yet, and I can not transact any business in these
dusty clothes. Good morning."

Grumbach liked the consul's smile. More than that, he recognized
instantly that this handsome young man was a gentleman. The inherent
respect for caste had not been beaten out of Grumbach's blood; he had
come from a brood in a peasant's hovel. To him the word gentleman would
always signify birth and good clothes; what the heart and mind were did
not matter much.

He had more than an hour to idle away, so he wandered through the park,
admiring the freshness of the green, the well-kept flower-beds, the
crisp hedges, and the clean graveled paths. There was nothing like it
back there in America. They hadn't the time there; everybody was in the
market, speculating in bubbles. He admired the snowy fountains, too, and
the doves that darted in and out of the wind-blown spray. There was
nothing like this in America, either. He was not belittling; he was only
making comparisons. He knew that he would be far happier in his adopted
country, which would accomplish all these beautiful things farther on.

He looked up heavenward, where the three bergs shouldered the dazzling
snow into the blue. This impressed him more than all else; that little
wrinkle in the middle berg's ice had been there when he was a boy.
Nothing had changed in Dreiberg save the Koenig Strasse, whose co