beautiful old rooms--as memorials to take with me when I am far away from
Frankfort. But I don't ask it, dear Mr. Engelman. You don't want
enthusiastic ladies with sketch-books in this bachelor paradise of yours.
I hope we are not intruding on Mr. Keller. Is he at home?"

"No," said Mr. Engelman; "he has gone out.

Madame Fontaine's flow of eloquence suddenly ran dry. She was silent as
we ascended from the first floor to the second. In this part of the house
our bedrooms were situated. The chamber in which I slept presented
nothing particularly worthy of notice. But the rooms occupied by Mr.
Keller and Mr. Engelman contained some of the finest carved woodwork in
the house.

It was beginning to get dark. Mr. Engelman lit the candles in his own
room. The widow took one of them from him, and threw the light skillfully
on the different objects about her. She was still a little subdued; but
she showed her knowledge of wood-carving by picking out the two finest
specimens in the room--a wardrobe and a toilet-table.

"My poor husband was fond of old carving," she explained modestly; "what
I know about it, I know from him. Dear Mr. Engelman, your room is a
picture in itself. What glorious colors! How simple and how grand! Might
we----" she paused, with a becoming appearance of confusion. Her voice
dropped softly to lower tones. "Might we be pardoned, do you think, if we
ventured to peep into Mr. Keller's room?"

She spoke of "Mr. Keller's room" as if it had been a shrine, approachable
only by a few favored worshippers. "Where is it?" she inquired, with
breathless interest. I led the way out into the passage, and threw open