She heaved a long sigh, then fell back on to the floor, and was walking

along a little white road with tall black trees on either side, a little
road that led to nowhere, and where nobody walked at all--nobody at all.

11. THE ADVANCED LADY.
"Do you think we might ask her to come with us," said Fraulein Elsa,

retying her pink sash ribbon before my mirror. "You know, although she is
so intellectual, I cannot help feeling convinced that she has some secret

sorrow. And Lisa told me this morning, as she was turning out my room,
that she remains hours and hours by herself, writing; in fact Lisa says she

is writing a book! I suppose that is why she never cares to mingle with
us, and has so little time for her husband and the child."

"Well, YOU ask her," said I. "I have never spoken to the lady."
Elsa blushed faintly. "I have only spoken to her once," she confessed. "I

took her a bunch of wild flowers, to her room, and she came to the door in
a white gown, with her hair loose. Never shall I forget that moment. She

just took the flowers, and I heard her--because the door was not quite
properly shut--I heard her, as I walked down the passage, saying 'Purity,

fragrance, the fragrance of purity and the purity of fragrance!' It was
wonderful!"

At that moment Frau Kellermann knocked at the door.
"Are you ready?" she said, coming into the room and nodding to us very

genially. "The gentlemen are waiting on the steps, and I have asked the
Advanced Lady to come with us."

"Na, how extraordinary!" cried Elsa. "But this moment the gnadige Frau and
I were debating whether--"

"Yes, I met her coming out of her room and she said she was charmed with
the idea. Like all of us, she has never been to Schlingen. She is

downstairs now, talking to Herr Erchardt. I think we shall have a
delightful afternoon."

"Is Fritzi waiting too?" asked Elsa.
"Of course he is, dear child--as impatient as a hungry man listening for

the dinner bell. Run along!"
Elsa ran, and Frau Kellermann smiled at me significantly. In the past she

and I had seldom spoken to each other, owing to the fact that her "one
remaining joy"--her charming little Karl--had never succeeded in kindling

into flame those sparks of maternity which are supposed to glow in great
numbers upon the altar of every respectablefemale heart; but, in view of a

premeditated journey together, we became delightfully cordial.
"For us," she said, "there will be a double joy. We shall be able to watch

the happiness of these two dear children, Elsa and Fritz. They only
received the letters of blessing from their parents yesterday morning. It

is a very strange thing, but whenever I am in the company of newly-engaged
couples I blossom. Newly-engaged couples, mothers with first babies, and

normal deathbeds have precisely" target="_blank" title="ad.精确地；刻板地">precisely the same effect on me. Shall we join the
others?"

I was longing to ask her why normal deathbeds should cause anyone to burst
into flower, and said, "Yes, do let us."

We were greeted by the little party of "cure guests" on the pension steps,
with those cries of joy and excitement which herald so pleasantly the

mildest German excursion. Herr Erchardt and I had not met before that day,
so, in accordance with strictpension custom, we asked each other how long

we had slept during the night, had we dreamed agreeably, what time we had
got up, was the coffee fresh when we had appeared at breakfast, and how had

we passed the morning. Having toiled up these stairs of almost national
politeness we landed, triumphant and smiling, and paused to recover breath.

"And now," said Herr Erchardt, "I have a pleasure in store for you. The
Frau Professor is going to be one of us for the afternoon. Yes," nodding

graciously to the Advanced Lady. "Allow me to introduce you to each
other."

We bowed very formally, and looked each other over with that eye which is
known as "eagle" but is far more the property of the female than that most

unoffending of birds. "I think you are English?" she said. I acknowledged
the fact. "I am reading a great many English books just now--rather, I am

studying them."
"Nu," cried Herr Erchardt. "Fancy that! What a bond already! I have made

up my mind to know Shakespeare in his mother tongue before I die, but that
you, Frau Professor, should be already immersed in those wells of English

thought!"
"From what I have read," she said, "I do not think they are very deep

wells."
He nodded sympathetically.

"No," he answered, "so I have heard...But do not let us embitter our
excursion for our little English friend. We will speak of this another

time."
"Nu, are we ready?" cried Fritz, who stood, supporting Elsa's elbow in his

hand, at the foot of the steps. It was immediately discovered that Karl
was lost.

"Ka--rl, Karl--chen!" we cried. No response.
"But he was here one moment ago," said Herr Langen, a tired, pale youth,

who was recovering from a nervousbreakdown due to much philosophy and
little nourishment. "He was sitting here, picking out the works of his

watch with a hairpin!"
Frau Kellermann rounded on him. "Do you mean to say, my dear Herr Langen,

you did not stop the child!"
"No," said Herr Langen; "I've tried stopping him before now."

"Da, that child has such energy; never is his brain at peace. If he is not
doing one thing, he is doing another!"

"Perhaps he has started on the dining-room clock now," suggested Herr
Langen, abominably hopeful.

The Advanced Lady suggested that we should go without him. "I never take
my little daughter for walks," she said. "I have accustomed her to sitting

quietly in my bedroom from the time I go out until I return!"
"There he is--there he is," piped Elsa, and Karl was observed slithering

down a chestnut-tree, very much the worse for twigs.
"I've been listening to what you said about me, mumma," he confessed while

Frau Kellermann brushed him down. "It was not true about the watch. I was
only looking at it, and the little girl never stays in the bedroom. She

told me herself she always goes down to the kitchen, and--"
"Da, that's enough!" said Frau Kellermann.

We marched en masse along the station road. It was a very warm afternoon,
and continuous parties of "cure guests", who were giving their digestions a

quiet airing in pension gardens, called after us, asked if we were going
for a walk, and cried "Herr Gott--happy journey" with immense ill-concealed

relish when we mentioned Schlingen.
"But that is eight kilometres," shouted one old man with a white beard, who

leaned against a fence, fanning himself with a yellow handkerchief.
"Seven and a half," answered Herr Erchardt shortly.

"Eight," bellowed the sage.
"Seven and a half!"

"Eight!"
"The man is mad," said Herr Erchardt.

"Well, please let him be mad in peace," said I, putting my hands over my
ears.

"Such ignorance must not be allowed to go uncontradicted," said he, and
turning his back on us, too exhausted to cry out any longer, he held up

seven and a half fingers.
"Eight!" thundered the greybeard, with pristine freshness.

We felt very sobered, and did not recover until we reached a white signpost
which entreated us to leave the road and walk through the field path--

without trampling down more of the grass than was necessary. Being
interpreted, it meant "single file", which was distressing for Elsa and

Fritz. Karl, like a happy child, gambolled ahead, and cut down as many
flowers as possible with the stick of his mother's parasol--followed the

three others--then myself--and the lovers in the rear. And above the
conversation of the advance party I had the privilege of hearing these