Frederick von Sendlingen, Baron of ancient creation, enjoyed a wide fame
among the knot of noble carousers who strove to make one corner of
Munich a pale reflection of the "fast" end of Paris and Vienna. A major
in a crack heavy cavalry regiment, allowed for family reasons to remain
in the garrison after it had been removed elsewhere, he enjoyed enviable
esteem from his superiors and the hatred and dislike of all others.
Though inclined to court after the manner of the pillager who has
captured a city, his boisterous addresses pleased the wanton matrons
and, more naturally, the facile Cythereans of the music halls and
dance-houses.

At an early hour, he had cast his handkerchief, like an irresistible
sultan, at the chief attraction of the beer cellar, which he named--the
so-called "La Belle Stamboulane," and baffled in all his less brutal
modes of attack, he had recourse to one which better suited his custom.

It looked as though he had lost time in not putting it into operation
before, since the girl, around whom, taking one stride, he threw his
arms, could not, by her feeble resistance, prevent him snatching a kiss.
As for her father, casting down his turkophone, and raising his staff in
both hands, his valorous approach went for little, as his blow would
have been as likely to fall upon his daughter as the ruffian.

While he was bewildered and his stick was raised in air, the latter,
perceiving his danger, did not scruple to show his contempt for one of
the despised race whom he likewise scorned for his weakness, by dealing
him a kick in the leg with his heavy boot which, fairly delivered, would
have broken an oaken post. Though avoiding its full force, the unhappy
father was so painfully struck that he staggered back to the opposite
rail of the bridge and, clapping both hands to the bruise on the shin,