“Pardon me, my gracious lady,”[3] remarked Leimann to the hostess, “but my wife could not come immediately, having her old complaint--nervous headache, you know!” In saying this he made a face as though he didn’t himself believe what he was saying. “But she will doubtless come a bit later.” [3] “My gracious lady”--“Gnädige Frau”--a term of politeness used to-day indiscriminately in Germany toward married women.--TR. “Sorry to hear it,” Frau Clara sweetly answered, “but I hope she will soon feel well enough to appear.” After little Lieutenant Bleibtreu, a special friend of the house and the only subaltern in Captain König’s squadron, had in his turn saluted everybody, the servant announced that the meal was served. The diners, in couples, ranged strictly according to rank, passed in. The dining-room looked cheerful, and the table had been arranged with Frau Clara’s customary taste. Everybody having been served, conversation started slowly. “The weather has turned so fine of late that we can commence playing tennis,” remarked Frau Colonel von Kronau. “Certainly,” chimed in her husband, masticating vigorously. “I shall call a meeting of the club next week, and then nothing will stand in the way.” “Charming!” enthusiastically fluted Frau Stark. “I love it passionately, and you, of course, will all join in? You, my dear Frau Kahle, were one of the most zealous members last season. And how is it with you, Frau König?” “I’ll have to forego the pleasure,” she replied, “for it does not agree with me.” “And your husband?” “I don’t know how to play,” the captain said; “but I like to watch graceful ladies at it.” Frau Stark bit her lips and shot an angry glance at the captain. “What did he mean by ‘graceful ladies,’ anyway?” she thought. That was meant for her, no doubt. And she remembered unpleasant comment made because she with her fifty years had started riding a patient old mare belonging to her husband’s squadron. One of the sergeants was giving her lessons. “Some civilians, I believe, will join,” broke in the colonel. “I will have a list circulating.” Everybody knew this was buncombe, the colonel being extremely unpopular in civilian circles, and they smiled incredulously. “I will join you,” said Herr von Konradi, “provided the heat is not excessive. Next week, however, I have no leisure. I must sow my peas, or it will be too late.” “Yes,” put in König, “or they will not thrive.” “What? Not thrive? Peas will always turn out well if properly attended to,” said the colonel’s wife, with a touch of asperity. “I fear I must contradict you, my gracious lady,” retorted the captain. “Last year’s did not turn out well anywhere.” “They must be sowed at moonlight, and not a word be spoken, then they will do finely, every time,” said the Frau Colonel, eagerly. “But don’t imagine that I am superstitious. I am simply stating a fact.”