discussing the functions of the body. As well speak of a railway train and
refuse to mention the engine. How can we hope to understand anybody,
knowing nothing of their stomachs? In my husband's most severe illness--
the poultices--"

She dipped a piece of sugar in her coffee and watched it dissolve.

"Yet a young friend of mine who travelled to England for the funeral of his
brother told me that women wore bodices in public restaurants no waiter
could help looking into as he handed the soup."

"But only German waiters," I said. "English ones look over the top of your
head."

"There," she cried, "now you see your dependence on Germany. Not even an
efficient waiter can you have by yourselves."

"But I prefer them to look over your head."

"And that proves that you must be ashamed of your bodice."

I looked out over the garden full of wall-flowers and standard rose-trees
growing stiffly like German bouquets, feeling I did not care one way or the
other. I rather wanted to ask her if the young friend had gone to England
in the capacity of waiter to attend the funeral baked meats, but decided it
was not worth it. The weather was too hot to be malicious, and who could
be uncharitable, victimised by the flapping sensations which Frau Fischer
was enduring until six-thirty? As a gift from heaven for my forbearance,
down the path towards us came the Herr Rat, angelically clad in a white
silk suit. He and Frau Fischer were old friends. She drew the folds of