"Look at my great fingers beside yours."

"But they are beautifully kept," said the sister of the Baroness shyly.

The minx! Was love then a question of manicure?

"How I should adore to kiss you," murmured the student. "But you know I am
suffering from severe nasal catarrh, and I dare not risk giving it to you.
Sixteen times last night did I count myself sneezing. And three different
handkerchiefs."

I threw Morike into the lilac bush, and went back to the house. A great
automobile snorted at the front door. In the salon great commotion. The
Baroness was paying a surprise visit to her little daughter. Clad in a
yellow mackintosh she stood in the middle of the room questioning the
manager. And every guest the pension contained was grouped about her, even
the Frau Doktor, presumably examining a timetable, as near to the august
skirts as possible.

"But where is my maid?" asked the Baroness.

"There was no maid," replied the manager, "save for your gracious sister
and daughter."

"Sister!" she cried sharply. "Fool, I have no sister. My child travelled
with the daughter of my dressmaker."

Tableau grandissimo!