Fritz, delighted to think that he had discovered
the reason of his sweetheart's show of coolness.
"He's a very good fellow; Johann Laurier, a
Swiss courier. He has come from Ischl with
the foreign lady and gentleman. And he knows
— that is, I told him — that you and I —"

"What did you tell him, Herr Rosenheim?
How dare you talk about me to a stranger
without my permission?"

It seemed fated that whatever Fritz said or
did to-day should affront Kätchen.

This state of things was not entirely
unprecedented; but Fritz always fell into the error of
trying to reason about what was quite
unreasonable, and, being neither so quick-witted nor
so nimble of tongue as his pretty antagonist,
he got the worst of the argument, even though
he were thoroughly in the right.

"I suppose you're too proud to acknowledge
me for a lover, now that you've dined with Herr
Ebuer, and been rowed in his boat. I heard
of it. The folks at the Black Eagle say all
sorts of things."

"The folks at the Black Eagle! And what
do I care for them, or for you either, if you are
so ignorant as to listen to the gossip of such as
them. As to being proud, I can tell you
I think father is quite as good as Herr Ebner,
even though he may not be as rich. But he
was as rich once, and richer too."

"Well, Kätchen, I'm sorry if I've made you
cross —"

"Cross!"

"Well, if I've offended you, then. But it
seemed as if you would hardly speak to me
to-day when I first saw you, and now you are as
cold and stand-offish as you can be; why or
wherefore, I'm sure I don't know. I love you
with all my heart, Kätchen, and I never shall
love another girl the same as I do you."

And Fritz ventured to take up the plump
sunburnt little hand that lay on Kätchen's lap.
He held it lightly in his broad brown palm for
a moment, and then the wilful girl jerked it
away with a pettish exclamation, and walked
off towards her father. "You tease me," said
she, over her shoulder. It was somewhat trying
to her lover, that, while Kätchen was
extremely exacting in her demands on his
devotion, she resented any show of tenderness on
his part; and sometimes, when he was most
earnest in his expressions of love, she would
turn all he said into ridicule, and make the
house ring with laughter at his protestations.
To-night, however, she was not in a laughing
mood, but went and sat beside her father, resting
her hand on his shoulder, and apparently
absorbed in thought. She was conscious,
though, of Fritz's rueful puzzled look as he
resumed his seat, and absently took long pulls
at a perfectly cold pipe; and she was conscious,
also, of the admiring gaze that Monsieur Jean
Laurier cast upon her flushed face. "Your
daughter, Mr. Landlord?" said he, with a
polite bow.

"Yes, Herr Laurier, my little Katerina—
Kätchen, as she's always called. Child, this
gentleman is a great traveller, and can tell you
of wonderful places he has seen, and wonderful
people too. He speaks all languages—"

"Not quite all, Herr Landlord," modestly
put in Laurier.

"Yes, yes, all, I say— all that are worth
speaking. You should have come down before,
you puss, and you would have heard such
things about Rome, and Paris, and Vienna. I've
been relating part of my history to the Herr,
and he thinks it very hard that a man like
myself should have been so ill treated by
fortune. But, lord! I could explain it if I liked.
A good deal of it is the fault of others.
However, no more on that score. It can't interest
a stranger."

Nevertheless, no stranger was ever half an
hour beneath the roof of the Golden Lamb
without hearing Josef Kester's version of his
own misfortunes.

"What fine hair the Fräulein has!" said
Laurier, turning the discourse.

"Our Katchen? Yes, friend, you may say so;
and a pretty colour, too; not like the coarse
black horsehair one sees hereabouts. Her
blessed mother was a Saxon, and she has her
mother's hair."

"It's long, too, I suppose," pursued the
courier. "It seems all coiled round and round, so."

"Long! I believe you. Pull that bodkin
out, Kätchen, and let the Herr see its length."

And, as Katchen hesitated, he took the pins
out with his own hand, and the great silky
plaits tumbled down over her shoulders.

"Unplait it, child. It's nearly twice as long
when it's all loose. There, Herr Laurier, did
you ever see a prettier sight than that in your
travels?"

The Swiss got up, and took a long soft tress
in his hand, weighing it with a thoughtful look.

"Don't mind me, mam'sell; I've a daughter
as old as you, at home in Lausanne. I tell you
what; there's a friend of mine, a hairdresser in
Paris, who would give you almost any sum you'd
like to ask, for this hair. It's all the fashion
just now, and they can't get enough of it
anywhere."

Katchen jumped back, and hastily twisted
up her hair into one great lump, looking
meanwhile half in terror, half in indignation, at the
courier. But old Josef roared with laughter.

"No, no, thank you. Not to make a wig
for our empress herself, God bless her! We're
not so poor as that comes to, yet awhile. Don't
look scared, Kätchen. I should like to see the
barber who'd put scissors near your head."

"I'm not scared, father. How stupid you
are! But I don't want to make a show of
myself any longer, that's all."

Laurier was more a man of the world than
poor Rosenheim, and had lived in it some
twenty years longer, so, instead of apologising,
or arguing, or retracting, he began a description
of the wonderful head-dresses that the
ladies wore in Paris, the fine feathers, and
flowers, and jewels, which adorned their
borrowed locks. And in listening to this topic of
feminine interest, Kätchen. had time to recover
her composure, and even put in a few questions