gloves they wore, too!--even when they were smoking cigarettes."

Natalie Lind was apparently thinking of other things. She neither
rebuked nor approved Anneli's speech; though it was hard that the little
Saxon maid should have preferred to the sturdy, white-haired,
fair-skinned warriors of her native land the elegant young gentlemen of
Francis Joseph's army.

"They are handsome, those Englishmen," Natalie Lind was saying, almost
to herself, "and very rich and brave; but they have no sympathy. All
their fighting for their liberty is over and gone; they cannot believe
there is any oppression now anywhere; and they think that those who wish
to help the sufferers of the world are only discontented and fanatic--a
trouble--an annoyance. And they are hard with the poor people and the
weak; they think it is wrong--that you have done wrong--if you are not
well off and strong like themselves. I wonder if that was really an
English lady who wrote the 'Cry of the Children.'"

"I beg your pardon, Fraulein."

"Nothing, Anneli. I was wondering why so rich a nation as the English
should have so many poor people among them--and such miserable poor
people; there is nothing like it in the world."

They were walking along the broad road leading to the Marble Arch,
between the leafless trees. Suddenly the little Saxon girl exclaimed, in
an excited whisper,

"Fraulein! Fraulein!"