garrison of the Maine. From their glances and whispering together
it was easy to perceive that they were struck by Gemma's beauty;
one of them, who had probably stayed in Frankfort, stared at her
persistently, as at a figure familiar to him; he obviously knew who
she was. He suddenly got up, and glass in hand--all the officers
had been drinking hard, and the cloth before them was crowded with
bottles--approached the table at which Gemma was sitting. He was
a very young flaxen-haired man, with a rather pleasing and even
attractive face, but his features were distorted with the wine he had
drunk, his cheeks were twitching, his blood-shot eyes wandered, and
wore an insolent expression. His companions at first tried to hold him
back, but afterwards let him go, interested apparently to see what he
would do, and how it would end. Slightly unsteady on his legs, the
officer stopped before Gemma, and in an unnaturally screaming voice,
in which, in spite of himself, an inward struggle could be discerned,
he articulated, 'I drink to the health of the prettiest confectioner
in all Frankfort, in all the world (he emptied his glass), and in
return I take this flower, picked by her divine little fingers!' He
took from the table a rose that lay beside Gemma's plate. At first she
was astonished, alarmed, and turned fearfully white ... then alarm
was replaced by indignation; she suddenly crimsoned all over, to her
very hair--and her eyes, fastened directly on the offender, at the
same time darkened and flamed, they were filled with black gloom, and
burned with the fire of irrepressible fury. The officer must have been
confused by this look; he muttered something unintelligible, bowed,
and walked back to his friends. They greeted him with a laugh, and
faint applause.

Herr Klueber rose spasmodically from his seat, drew himself up to his
full height, and putting on his hat pronounced with dignity, but not