history of my acquaintance with her.

Dorothea, then, was the daughter of the celebrated Speck before
mentioned. It is one of the oldest names in Germany, where her father's
and mother's houses, those of Speck and Eyer, are loved wherever they
are known. Unlike his warlike progenitor, Lorenzo von Speck, Dorothea's
father, had early shown himself a passionate admirer of art; had
quitted home to study architecture in Italy, and had become celebrated
throughout Europe, and been appointed Oberhofarchitect and Kunst- und
Bau-inspektor of the united principalities. They are but four miles
wide, and his genius has consequently but little room to play. What art
can do, however, he does. The palace is frequently whitewashed under
his eyes; the theatre painted occasionally; the noble public buildings
erected, of which I have already made mention.

I had come to Kalbsbraten, scarce knowing whither I went; and having, in
about ten minutes, seen the curiosities of the place (I did not care
to see the King's palace, for chairs and tables have no great charm for
me), I had ordered horses, and wanted to get on I cared not whither,
when Fate threw Dorothea in my way. I was yawning back to the hotel
through the palace-garden, a valet-de-place at my side, when I saw a
young lady seated under a tree reading a novel, her mamma on the same
bench (a fat woman in light blue) knitting a stocking, and two officers,
choked in their stays, with various orders on their spinach-colored
coats, standing by in first attitudes: the one was caressing the
fat-lady-in-blue's little dog; the other was twirling his own moustache,
which was already as nearly as possible curled into his own eye.

I don't know how it is, but I hate to see men evidently intimate with
nice-looking women, and on good terms with themselves. There's something