She looked into his laughing eyes with her clear, stedfast, gravely questioning blue ones.  “Do not you Americans know that it is not the fashion here, in Germany, for the young men and the young women to walk together—­unless they are VERLOBT?”

“Ver—­which?”

“Engaged.”  She nodded her head thrice:  viciously, decidedly, mischievously.

“So much the better.”

“ACH Gott!” She made a gesture of hopelessness at his incorrigibility, and again attempted to withdraw her hands.

“I must go now.”

“Well then, good-by.”

It was easy to draw her closer by simply lowering her still captive hands.  Then he suddenly kissed her coldly startled lips, and instantly released her.  She as instantly vanished.

“Elsbeth,” he called quickly.  “Elsbeth!”

Her now really frightened face reappeared with a heightened color from the dense foliage—­quite to his astonishment.

“Hush,” she said, with her finger on her lips.  “Are you mad?”

“I only wanted to remind you to square me with the Princess,” he laughed as her head disappeared.

He strolled back toward the gate.  Scarcely had he quitted the shrubbery before the same chasseur made his appearance with precisely the same salute; and, keeping exactly the same distance, accompanied him to the gate.  At the corner of the street he hailed a droshky and was driven to his hotel.

The landlord came up smiling.  He trusted that the Herr had greatly enjoyed himself at the Schloss.  It was a distinguished honor—­in fact, quite unprecedented.  Hoffman, while he determined not to commit himself, nor his late fair companion, was nevertheless anxious to learn something more of her relations to the Schloss.  So pretty, so characteristic, and marked a figure must be well known to sightseers.  Indeed, once or twice the idea had crossed his mind with a slightly jealous twinge that left him more conscious of the impression she had made on him than he had deemed possible.  He asked if the model farm and dairy were always shown by the same attendants.

“ACH Gott! no doubt, yes; His Royal Highness had quite a retinue when he was in residence.”

“And were these attendants in costume?”

“There was undoubtedly a livery for the servants.”

Hoffman felt a slight republican irritation at the epithet—­he knew not why.  But this costume was rather a historical one; surely it was not entrusted to everyday menials—­and he briefly described it.

His host’s blank curiosity suddenly changed to a look of mysterious and arch intelligence.

“ACH Gott! yes!” He remembered now (with his finger on his nose) that when there was a fest at the Schloss the farm and dairy were filled with shepherdesses, in quaint costume worn by the ladies of the Grand Duke’s own theatrical company, who assumed the characters with great vivacity.  Surely it was the same, and the Grand Duke had treated the Herr to this special courtesy.  Yes—­there was one pretty, blonde young lady—­the Fraulein Wimpfenbuttel, a most popular soubrette, who would play it to the life!  And the description fitted her to a hair!  Ah, there was no doubt of it; many persons, indeed, had been so deceived.