globe we were touring.  Both Samayana and the curate were picturesque—­for men.  Two beings more opposed never came together, yet they liked each other thoroughly.  Samayana was greatly admired in European society for his color, his gift as a raconteur, and the curious rings he wore.  He was very dusky, and Cecilia, being very blonde, valued him as a most effective foil and adjunct.  We were seeing Germany in the most leisurely fashion, courting the unexpected and letting things happen to us.

On the day of which I write we spent the early morning on the Koenigsee, in Bavaria, the loveliest sheet of water in Germany, vying in grandeur with any Swiss or Italian lake.  Its color is that of the pheasant’s breast, and the green mountain-sides, almost perpendicular in places, rise till their peaks are in the clouds and their snows are perpetual.  Stalwart, bronzed peasant girls, in the short skirts of the Bavarian costume, rowed us about.  A few years ago, in answer to a petition, King Louis I. promised them that never in his reign should steam supplant them.  They laughed happily and looked proudly at their muscle when we hinted at their being tired.

We landed at different points and strolled into wooded valleys, visited artificial hermitages, stopped for a bite at a restaurant connected with a royal hunting-chateau, and listened lazily to Elise’s telling of the legends of the region, accompanied by the music of some little waterfall coming from the snow above and gleefully leaping into the lake.  We crossed the rocky, wild pasture-land lying between the Koenigsee and the Obersee, that tiny lake that faithfully gives back as a mirror all the crags, peaks, and snowy heights which hide it away there as if it were indeed the precious opal you may fancy it to be when viewed from above.

We drifted back to the little inn, where we were approached by a respectful Kutscher, who asked if we would not like to go down into a salt-mine.  Whatever we did, it was with one accord, and the answer came in chorus, “Ja, gewiss!” Elise glanced down at her dainty toilet, a look instantly interpreted by the Kutscher, who explained that costumes for the descent were furnished, that the exploration was not fatiguing, and that the carriages were ready.

It was all done in an “Augenblick,” the bill was paid, the Trinkgeld was scattered, and we were rattling away through as beautiful a region as you will find, even in Switzerland.  The snow-peaks were dazzlingly white in the sunshine; in the ravines and defiles the darkness lingers from night to night; singing, leaping Alpine streams came like molten silver from the glaciers over the rocky ledges and through the hanging forests, and a swift river ran through this happy, fertile valley of peace and plenty in which our roadway wound.  The peasants looked content and well-to-do, and were picturesquely clothed.  We stopped an old man and bargained for the quaint,