"Yes, Herr Baron. Baron Rienaecker of Landgrafenstrasse. Close by the cab stand. I have often driven you before." During this conversation Botho had got in, meaning to make himself as comfortable as possible in the corner of the plush cushioned seat, but he soon gave up that idea, for the corner was as hot as an oven. Rienaecker had, in common with all Brandenburg noblemen, the pleasing and good-hearted trait that he preferred to talk with plain people rather than with more "cultivated" folk, and so he began at once, while they were in the half shade of the young trees along the canal: "How hot it is! Your horse cannot have been much pleased when he heard me say Rollkrug." "Oh, Rollkrug is well enough; Rollkrug is well enough because of the woods. When he gets there and smells the pines, he is always pleased. You see, he is from the country.... Or perhaps it is the music too. At any rate, he always pricks up his ears." "Indeed," said Botho. "He doesn't look to me much like dancing.... But where can we get the wreath then? I do not want to get to the churchyard without a wreath." "Oh, there is plenty of time for that, Herr Baron. As soon as we get into the neighborhood of the churchyard, from the Halle Gate on and the whole length of the Pioneerstrasse." "Yes, yes, you are quite right. I was forgetting...." "And after that, until you are close to the churchyard, there are plenty more places." Botho smiled. "You are perhaps a Silesian?" "Yes," said the driver. "Most of us are. But I have been here a long time now, and so I am half a true Berliner." "And are you doing pretty well?" "There is no use talking about 'pretty well.' Everything costs too much and one has to have always the best quality. And hay is dear. But I should do well enough, if only nothing would happen. But something is always sure to happen--to-day an axle breaks and to-morrow a horse falls down. I have another horse at home, a light bay, that used to be with the Fuerstenwald Uhlans; a good horse, only he has no wind and he will not last much longer. And all of a sudden he will be gone.... And then the traffic police; never satisfied, you mustn't go here and you mustn't go there. And one is always having to repaint. And red plush is not to be had for nothing." While they were chatting together, they had driven along by the canal, as far as the Halle Gate. And now a battalion of infantry with the band playing spiritedly was coming straight toward them from the Kreuzberg, and Botho, who did not wish to meet acquaintances, urged the coachman to drive faster. And they passed rapidly over the Belle-Alliance Bridge, but on the further side, Botho asked the driver to stop, because he had seen a sign on one of the first houses that read: "Artistic and Practical Florist." Three or four steps led into a shop, in the show window of which were all kinds of wreaths.