took the flowers, and I heard her—because the door was not quite properly shut—I heard her, as I walked down the passage, saying 'Purity, fragrance, the fragrance of purity and the purity of fragrance!' It was wonderful!'
At that moment Frau Kellermann knocked at the door.
'Are you ready?' she said, coming into the room and nodding to us very genially. 'The gentlemen are waiting on the steps, and I have asked the Advanced Lady to come with us.'
'Na, how extraordinary!' cried Elsa. 'But this moment the gnadige Frau and I were debating whether—'
'Yes, I met her coming out of her room and she said she was charmed with the idea. Like all of us, she has never been to Schlingen. She is downstairs now, talking to Herr Erchardt. I think we shall have a delightful afternoon.'
'Is Fritzi waiting too?' asked Elsa.
'Of course he is, dear child—as impatient as a hungry man listening for the dinner bell. Run along!'
Elsa ran, and Frau Kellermann smiled at me significantly. In the past she and I had seldom spoken to each other, owing to the fact that her 'one remaining joy'—her charming little Karl—had never succeeded in kindling into flame those sparks of maternity which are supposed to glow in great numbers upon the altar of every respectable female heart; but, in view of a premeditated journey together, we became delightfully cordial.
'For us,' she said, 'there will be a double joy. We shall be able to watch the happiness of these two dear children, Elsa and Fritz. They only received the letters of blessing from their parents yesterday morning. It is a very strange thing, but whenever I am in the company of newly-engaged couples I blossom. Newly-engaged couples, mothers with first babies, and normal deathbeds have precisely the same effect on me. Shall we join the others?'
I was longing to ask her why normal deathbeds should cause anyone to burst into flower, and said, 'Yes, do let us.'
We were greeted by the little party of 'cure guests' on the pension steps, with those cries of joy and excitement which herald so pleasantly the mildest German excursion. Herr Erchardt and I had not met before that day, so, in accordance with strict pension custom, we asked each other how long we had slept during the night, had we dreamed agreeably, what time we had got up, was the coffee fresh when we had appeared at breakfast, and how had we passed the morning. Having toiled up these stairs of almost national politeness we landed, triumphant and smiling, and paused to recover breath.
'And now,' said Herr Erchardt, 'I have a pleasure in store for you. The Frau Professor is going to be one of us for the afternoon. Yes,' nodding graciously to the Advanced Lady. 'Allow me to introduce you to each other.'
We bowed very formally, and looked each other over with that eye which is known as 'eagle' but is far more the property of the female than that most unoffending of birds. 'I think you are English?' she said. I acknowledged the fact. 'I am reading a great many English books just now—rather, I am studying them.'
'Nu,' cried Herr Erchardt. 'Fancy that! What a bond already! I have made up my mind to know Shakespeare in his mother tongue before I die, but that you, Frau Professor, should be already immersed in those wells of English thought!'
'From what I have read,' she said, 'I do not think they are very deep wells.'
He nodded sympathetically.
'No,' he answered, 'so I have heard... But do not let us embitter our excursion for our little English friend. We will speak of this another time.'
'Nu, are we ready?' cried Fritz, who stood, supporting Elsa's elbow in his hand, at the foot of the steps. It was immediately discovered that Karl was lost.
'Ka—rl, Karl—chen!' we cried. No response.
'But he was here one moment ago,' said Herr Langen, a tired, pale youth, who was recovering from a nervous breakdown due to much philosophy and little nourishment. 'He was sitting here, picking out the works of his watch with a hairpin!'
Frau Kellermann rounded on him. 'Do you mean to say, my dear Herr Langen, you did not stop the child!'
'No,' said Herr Langen; 'I've tried stopping him before now.'
'Da, that child has such energy; never is his brain at peace. If he is not doing one thing, he is doing another!'
'Perhaps he has started on the dining-room clock now,' suggested Herr Langen, abominably hopeful.
The Advanced Lady suggested that we should go without him. 'I never take my little daughter for walks,' she said. 'I have accustomed her to sitting quietly in my bedroom from the time I go out until I return!'
'There he is—there he is,' piped Elsa, and Karl was observed slithering down a chestnut-tree, very much the worse for twigs.
'I've been listening to what you said about me, mumma,' he confessed while Frau Kellermann brushed him down. 'It was not true about the watch. I was only looking at it, and the little girl never stays in the bedroom. She told me herself she always goes down to the kitchen, and—'
'Da, that's enough!' said Frau Kellermann.
We marched en masse along the station road. It was a very warm afternoon, and continuous parties of 'cure guests', who were giving their digestions a quiet airing in pension gardens, called after us, asked if we were going for a walk, and cried 'Herr Gott—happy journey' with immense ill-concealed relish when we mentioned Schlingen.
'But that is eight kilometres,' shouted one old man with a white beard, who leaned against a fence, fanning himself with a yellow handkerchief.
'Seven and a half,' answered Herr Erchardt shortly.
'Eight,' bellowed the sage.
