The Herr Förster and the two Jaegers had gone away. Miss Dene stood now with her slender hands clasped easily behind her, a Tam O’Shanter shading her sweet face. She was tall, and so far as Mr Blumenthal had ever seen, extremely grave for her years. But Mr Blumenthal’s opportunities of observing Miss Dene had been limited. The “gams” had disappeared. Miss Dene was looking down the road that leads to Schicksalsee. There was not much visible there except a whirl of dust raised by the sudden evening wind. Sometimes it was swept away for a moment; then she saw a weather-beaten bridge and a bend in the road where it disappeared among the noble firs of a Bavarian forest. The sun sank and left the Trauerbach a stream of molten lead. The shadows crept up to the Jaeger’s hut and then to the little chapel above that. Gusts of whistling martins swept by. A silk-lined, Paris-made wool dress rustled close beside her, and she put out one of the slender hands without turning her head. “Mother, dear,” said she, as a little silver-haired old lady took it and came and leaned against her tall girl’s shoulder, “haven’t we had enough of the ‘Först-haus zu Trauerbach?’” “Not until a certain girl, who danced away her color at Cannes, begins to bloom again.” Ruth shrugged, and then laughed. “At least it isn’t so—so indigestible as Munich.” “Oh! Absurd! Speaking of digestion, come to your Schmarn und Reh-braten. Supper is ready.” Mother and daughter walked into the dingy “Stube” and took their seats at the Forester’s table. Mr Blumenthal’s efforts had not secured him a place there after all; Anna, the capable niece of the Frau Förster, having set down a large foot, clad in a thick white stocking and a carpet slipper, to the effect that there was only room for the Herr Förster’s family and the Americans. “I also am an American!” cried Mr Blumenthal in Hebrew-German. Nevertheless, when Ruth and her mother came in he bowed affably to them from the nearest end of the next table. “Mamma,” said Ruth, very low, “I hope I’m not going to begin being difficult, but do you know, that is really an odious man?” “Yes, I do know,” laughed her easy-tempered mother, “but what is that to us?” Mr Blumenthal was reveling in hot fat. After he had bowed and smiled greasily, he tucked his napkin tighter under his chin and fell once more upon the gravy. He sopped his bread in it and scooped it up with his knife. But after there was no more gravy he wished to converse. He scrubbed his lips with one end of the napkin and called across to Ruth, who shrank behind her mother: “Vell, Miss Dene, you have today a shammy seen, not?” Ruth kept out of sight, but Mrs Dene nodded, good-naturedly. “Ja! soh! and haf you auch dose leetle deer mit der mamma seen? I haf myself such leetle deer myself many times shoot, me and my neffe. But not here. It is not permitted.” No one answered. Ruth asked Anna for the salt. “My neffe, he eats such lots of salt—” began Mr Blumenthal.