Small and slight, with scanty black hair and beard and yellow-toned
complexion, he invariably wore black serge clothes, a rough linen shirt,
black sandals, and the largest black-rimmed spectacles that I had ever
seen.

The Herr Oberlehrer, who sat opposite me, smiled benignantly.

"It must be very interesting for you, gnadige Frau, to be able to watch....
of course this is a VERY FINE HOUSE. There was a lady from the Spanish
Court here in the summer; she had a liver. We often spoke together."

I looked gratified and humble.

"Now, in England, in your 'boarding 'ouse', one does not find the First
Class, as in Germany."

"No, indeed," I replied, still hypnotised by the Baron, who looked like a
little yellow silkworm.

"The Baron comes every year," went on the Herr Oberlehrer, "for his nerves.
He has never spoken to any of the guests--YET! A smile crossed his face.
I seemed to see his visions of some splendid upheaval of that silence--a
dazzling exchange of courtesies in a dim future, a splendid sacrifice of a
newspaper to this Exalted One, a "danke schon" to be handed down to future
generations.

At that moment the postman, looking like a German army officer, came in
with the mail. He threw my letters into my milk pudding, and then turned
to a waitress and whispered. She retired hastily. The manager of the
pension came in with a little tray. A picture post card was deposited on