'I promise you we shall not disturb you, Mr. Peterborough. You have
reached that middle age, have you not, when sleep is, so to put it, your
capital? And your activity is the interest you draw from it to live on.
You have three good hours. So, then, till we meet at the breakfast-
table.'

My father's first proceeding at the hotel was to examine the list of
visitors. He questioned one of the waiters aside, took information from
him, and seized my arm rather tremulously, saying,

'They are here. 'Tis as I expected. And she is taking the morning
breath of sea-air on the dunes. Come, Richie, come.'

'Who's the "she"?' I asked incuriously.

'Well, she is young, she is of high birth, she is charming. We have a
crowned head or two here. I observe in you, Richie, an extraordinary
deficiency of memory. She has had an illness; Neptune speed her
recovery! Now for a turn at our German. Die Strassen ruhen; die Stadt
schlaft; aber dort, siehst Du, dort liegt das blaue Meer, das nimmer-
schlafende! She is gazing on it, and breathing it, Richie. Ach! ihr
jauchzende Seejungfern. On my soul, I expect to see the very loveliest
of her sex!

You must not be dismayed at pale cheeks-blasse Wangen. Her illness has
been alarming. Why, this air is the top of life; it will, and it shall,
revive her. How will she address him?--"Freund," in my presence,
perchance: she has her invalid's privilege. "Theure Prinzessin" you
might venture on. No ice! Ay, there she is!'