"Pray walk in, Monsieur Hâas."

"After you, sir, after you."

We cross the vestibule, and I find at the end of a small, neat, and
well-aired room a table nicely and comfortably laid, and sitting by it
a young maiden rosy and fresh-coloured, the very picture of modesty and
propriety.

The venerable notary announced me--

"Monsieur Caspar Hâas!"

I bowed.

"My daughter Lothe!" added the good man.

And whilst I felt in myself a reviving taste for the beautiful, and was
admiring Mademoiselle Lothe's pretty little chubby nose, the rosy lips,
and the large blue eyes, her dainty little figure, and her dimpled hands,
Maître Becker invited me to sit down at the table, informing me that he
had been expecting me, and that before entering on matters of business it
would be well to take a little refreshment, a glass of Bordeaux, etc., an
invitation of which I fully recognised the propriety, and which I
accepted very willingly.

And so we sit down. We talk first of the beautiful country. And I form
opinions about the old gentleman, and wonder what a notary is likely to
make at Lauterbach!