"Counsellor," like his compatriots.

"My friends," he said, "call me 'Captain.' I command a company of the
Landsturm." And the air with which the manufacturer accompanied these
words, revealed the melancholy of an unappreciated man scorning the
honors he has in order to think only of those he does not possess.

While he was delivering his discourse, Julio was examining his small
head and thick neck which gave him a certain resemblance to a bull dog.
In imagination he saw the high and oppressive collar of a uniform making
a double roll of fat above its stiff edge. The waxed, upright moustaches
were bristling aggressively. His voice was sharp and dry as though
he were shaking out his words. . . . Thus the Emperor would utter his
harangues, so the martial burgher, with instinctive imitation, was
contracting his left arm, supporting his hand upon the hilt of an
invisible sword.

In spite of his fierce and oratorical gesture of command, all the
listening Germans laughed uproariously at his first words, like men who
knew how to appreciate the sacrifice of a Herr Comerzienrath when he
deigns to divert a festivity.

"He is saying very witty things about the French," volunteered the
interpreter in a low voice, "but they are not offensive."

Julio had guessed as much upon hearing repeatedly the word Franzosen.
He almost understood what the orator was saying--"Franzosen--great
children, light-hearted, amusing, improvident. The things that they
might do together if they would only forget past grudges!" The attentive
Germans were no longer laughing. The Counsellor was laying aside his