Assuming that you stay at Zwinger’s, this is what happens. The carrier of your bag (who looks like a fisherman, and walks as a fisherman, but is not a fisherman) throws it down outside the restaurant, and, sinking on one of the green iron chairs, groans aloud a protest against the scheme by which one has to work ere one can gain five pence; he rolls a cigarette of black tobacco, and strikes a match which makes other customers choke and cough. Then comes, leisurely, one of the Misses Zwinger, accepting salutations with the austere air of a lady bored by deference. Miss Zwinger, without asking the desires or wishes of the new arrival, engages in swift and shrill altercation with a dog, hitherto inoffensive, and occupied with the duties of explorer at the kerb; the dog goes, but, at a safe distance, expresses an opinion by four sharp barks, that bring from every corner of the triangular market-place, and especially from the Town Hall at the base, several dogs, to whom he explains the grievance. “You require?” Miss Zwinger calls her sister from the sanded floor interior to help with the task of fending off an insurgent boarder. The restaurant is full; you may be able to engage a furnished room opposite; why not go to the hotel out in the forest? It is preferred, at this season, to take only those who wish to stay for a month; would a double-bedded room suit? Finally, having finished the duet, they leave, with a twirl of skirts, giving the centre of the stage, so to speak, to a short, grim, black-capped man who, hands deep in trousers pockets, talks as one giving an imitation of distant thunder. Outside clients rise from their chairs, inside customers put down ribald journals with pictures intended to be amusing, and stroll out to enjoy themselves. Here comes the final test of the novice. I have seen young couples, husbands and wives, or brothers and sisters, come from the narrow lane and, recognising Zwinger’s, say instantly: “Oh, my goodness! This will never do!” Others (and these especially when ladies have been of the party) retire after the contest with the Misses Zwinger. Some, enduring this encounter, turn and run, trembling and affrighted, on being faced by the uncompromising host himself. A few (mostly artists) survive all of the dangers, and are grudgingly permitted to carry their bags up a narrow wooden staircase, and find a room, the number of which has been screamed at them: in the room they discover a milk jug nearly half-full of water, and a small damp piece of linen riding on the clothes-horse. Apart from these defects, I will say that Zwinger’s, once conquered, gives in, so far as bedroom and meals are concerned, with a fairly good grace.