“Now, my dear, I am tired to death, and I am not going to sit through a long table d’hote.  I want you to send me up a simple beefsteak and a cup of tea to our rooms; and I don’t want you to come near for hours; because I intend to take a whole afternoon nap.  You can keep all the maps and plans, and guides, and you had better go and see what the Volksfest is like; it will give you some notion of the part the people are really taking in all this official celebration, and you know I don’t care.  Don’t come up after dinner to see how I am getting along; I shall get along; and if you should happen to wake me after I had dropped off—­”

Kenby had seen them arrive from where he sat at the reading-room window, waiting for the dinner hour, and had meant to rush out and greet Mrs. March as they passed up the corridor.  But she looked so tired that he had decided to spare her till she came down to dinner; and as he sat with March at their soup, he asked if she were not well.

March explained, and he provisionally invented some regrets from her that she should not see Kenby till supper.

Kenby ordered a bottle of one of the famous Wurzburg wines for their mutual consolation in her absence, and in the friendliness which its promoted they agreed to spend the afternoon together.  No man is so inveterate a husband as not to take kindly an occasional release to bachelor companionship, and before the dinner was over they agreed that they would go to the Volksfest, and get some notion of the popular life and amusements of Wurzburg, which was one of the few places where Kenby had never been before; and they agreed that they would walk.

Their way was partly up the quay of the Main, past a barrack full of soldiers.  They met detachments of soldiers everywhere, infantry, artillery, cavalry.

“This is going to be a great show,” Kenby said, meaning the manoeuvres, and he added, as if now he had kept away from the subject long enough and had a right to recur to it, at least indirectly, “I should like to have Rose see it, and get his impressions.”

“I’ve an idea he wouldn’t approve of it.  His mother says his mind is turning more and more to philanthropy.”

Kenby could not forego such a chance to speak of Mrs. Adding.  “It’s one of the prettiest things to see how she understands Rose.  It’s charming to see them together.  She wouldn’t have half the attraction without him.”

“Oh, yes,” March assented.  He had often wondered how a man wishing to marry a widow managed with the idea of her children by another marriage; but if Kenby was honest; it was much simpler than he had supposed.  He could not say this to him, however, and in a certain embarrassment he had with the conjecture in his presence he attempted a diversion.  “We’re promised something at the Volksfest which will be a great novelty to us as Americans.  Our driver told us this morning that one of the houses there was built entirely of wood.”