"_Parbleu! Elle est charmante_!" exclaimed Fritz, fixing a bold stare
on the girl's blushing face.

"_Bien charmante_," replied Mr. Hahn, who took a great pride in the
little French he had picked up when he carried a napkin over his
shoulder.

And indeed, Ilka was _charmante_ as she stood there in the dim
candle-light, her great innocent eyes dilated with child-like wonder,
her thick blond braids hanging over her shoulders, and the picturesque
Tyrolese costume--a black embroidered velvet waist, blue apron, and
short black skirt--setting off her fine figure to admirable advantage.
She was a tall, fresh-looking girl, of stately build, without being
stout, with a healthy blooming countenance and an open, guileless
expression. Most people would have pronounced her beautiful, but her
beauty was of that rudimentary, unindividualized kind which is found
so frequently among the peasantry of all nations. To Fritz Hahn,
however who was not a philosophical observer, she seemed the most
transcendent phenomenon his eyes had ever beheld.

"To make a long story short, madam," began Mr. Hahn after a pause,
during which Mother Uberta had been bristling silently while firing
defiant glances at the two strangers, "I am the proprietor of a great
establishment in Berlin--the 'Haute Noblesse'--you may have heard of
it."

"No, I never heard of it," responded Mother Uberta, emphatically, as
if anxious to express her disapproval, on general principles, of
whatever statements Mr. Hahn might choose to make.