studied it more lately than you, and I am fresher, much fresher
than you." (Here Salemina bridled obviously.) "The man is not
saying that two francs is the price of the glass. He says that we
can pay him two francs now, and if we will return the glass to-
night when we come home he will give us back one franc fifty
centimes. That is fifty centimes for the rent of the glass, as I
understand it."

Salemina's right hand, with the glass in it, dropped nervelessly at
her side. "If he uttered one single syllable of all that
rigmarole, then Ollendorf is a myth, that's all I have to say."

"The gift of tongues is not vouchsafed to all," I responded with
dignity. "I happen to possess a talent for languages, and I
apprehend when I do not comprehend."

Salemina was crushed by the weight of my self-respect, and we took
the tumbler, and the train.

It was a cloudless day and a beautiful journey, along the side of
the sapphire lake for miles, and always in full view of the
glorious mountains. We arrived at Yverdon about noon, and had
eaten our luncheon on the train, so that we should have a long,
unbroken afternoon. We left our books and heavy wraps in the
station with the porter, with whom we had another slight
misunderstanding as to general intentions and terms; then we
started, Salemina carrying the lemonade glass in her hand, with her
guide-book, her red parasol, and her Astrakhan cape. The tumbler
was a good deal of trouble, but her heart was set on returning it
safely to the Geneva pirate; not so much to reclaim the one franc