Meanwhile their owner, a young and very pretty girl, looked on and
laughed, without making any effort to help him; and the more he
exerted himself, the more she laughed. In one hand she was carrying a
violin-case, in the other a velvet muff, which now and again she
raised to her lips, as if to conceal her mirth. It was a graceful
movement, but an unnecessary one, for her laughter was of that
charming kind, which never gives offence; and, besides that, although
it was continuous, it was neither hearty enough nor frank enough to be
unbecoming the face was well under control. She stood there, with her
head slightly on one side, and the parted lips showed both rows of
small, even teeth; but the smile was unvarying, and, in spite of her
merriment, her eyes did not for an instant quit the young man's face,
as he darted to and fro.

Maurice could not help laughing himself, red and out of breath
though he was.

"Now for the last one," he said in German.

At these words she seemed more amused than ever. "I don't speak
German," she answered in English, with a strong American accent.

Having captured all the sheets, Maurice tried to arrange them for her.

"It's my Kayser," she explained with a quick, upward glance, adding
the next minute with a fresh ripple of laughter. "He's all to pieces."

"You have too much to carry," said Maurice. "On such a windy day,
too."