In his ingenuous glance, as in the more rounded contour
of his waistcoat, you could see at once that fate
had dealt kindly with him. Indeed, to hear him sigh was
so unwonted an occurrence that the Baroness looked up
with an air of mild surprise.

"My dear Rudolph," said she, "you should really
open the window. You are evidently feeling the heat."

"No, not ze heat," replied the Baron.

He did not turn his head towards her, and she looked
at him more anxiously.

"What is it, then? I have noticed a something strange
about you ever since we landed at Dover. Tell me,
Rudolph!"

Thus adjured, he cast a troubled glance in her direction.
He saw a face whose mild blue eyes and undetermined
mouth he still swore by as the standard by which
to try all her inferior sisters, and a figure whose growing
embonpoint yearly approached the outline of his ideal
hausfrau. But it was either St. Anthony or one of his
fellow-martyrs who observed that an occasional holiday
from the ideal is the condiment in the sauce of sanctity;
and some such reflection perturbed the Baron at this
moment.

"It is nozing moch," he answered.