"Oh," I thought, "surely he cannot drift into obscurity--be lost without
one word! Surely he will honour the Frau Oberregierungsrat of the Frau
Feldleutnantswitwe ONCE before he goes."

In the evening of that day it rained heavily. I went to the post office,
and as I stood on the steps, umbrellaless, hesitating before plunging into
the slushy road, a little, hesitating voice seemed to come from under my
elbow.

I looked down. It was the First of the Barons with the black bag and an
umbrella. Was I mad? Was I sane? He was asking me to share the latter.
But I was exceedingly nice, a trifle diffident, appropriately reverential.
Together we walked through the mud and slush.

Now, there is something peculiarly intimate in sharing an umbrella.

It is apt to put one on the same footing as brushing a man's coat for
him--a little daring, naive.

I longed to know why he sat alone, why he carried the bag, what he did all
day. But he himself volunteered some information.

"I fear," he said, "that my luggage will be damp. I invariably carry it
with me in this bag--one requires so little--for servants are
untrustworthy."

"A wise idea," I answered. And then: "Why have you denied us the
pleasure--"

"I sit alone that I may eat more," said the Baron, peering into the dusk;