“When I was in the Graben at noon the other day it struck me that one does not see nearly as many well-dressed men and women this year as formerly. People simply don’t indulge in fashions any more. I must admit, however, that I don’t at all miss the repulsive faces of the Jewish profiteers, which used to make you so angry, too. Their place is taken by a great many young fops who look like peasants and wear impossible clothes, and who infest the Drive with their enormous watch-chains and fat diamond-ringed fingers. Altogether it seems to me that nowadays all our transient visitors are peasants. Recently the owner of the Hotel Imperial complained in one of the papers that the guests he has these days go to bed without removing their hobnailed shoes, and wash their woolen underwear in the bathtubs. If you’d walk through the Kärtnerstrasse you’d be amazed at the lack of elegance in the stores today!--Now I must close, for it’s one o’clock in the morning, and I have nothing more of importance to say besides. Good-bye, my beloved, and invent some way of bringing us together soon--for otherwise I can’t live any more. Thousands and thousands of kisses from your disconsolate LOTTE.” CHAPTER II. ROUGH WOOLENS--THE LATEST STYLE Silent, morose, with wrinkled brow Herr Habietnik walked through the luxurious salesrooms of the great department store in the Kärtnerstrasse--the store that had once been called Zwieback, but now bore the name of Wilhelm Habietnik. Herr Habietnik had been the head salesman in the ladies’ tailoring department, and during the great expulsion of the Jews he had succeeded, with the assistance of the Central German Savings Bank, in acquiring the business. Now, as we have said, Herr Habietnik wandered from room to room, exchanging a few words with every aisle manager; his countenance became more and more gloomy, and angry snorts escaped him. He paced without stopping through the pink and white infants’ wear department; he threw a furious glance into the beautiful but entirely deserted pastry shop; and then, rushing into his private office, he summoned his manager, Smetana. “Look here, Herr Smetana, things can’t go on this way--something has to be done! Easter’s almost here; this used to be our busiest season, the store used to be so crowded that it was impossible to walk through it--and on my rounds today I found three old women, two of whom were hunting together for a chenille scarf that died out long ago, and the third for a cotton petticoat. If this is the best we can do we might as well shut up shop. Tell me, what’s the amount of our deficit since I’ve taken over the firm?” The manager smiled wryly: “Oh, I’d say about a billion--that should be fairly close to it.” Herr Habietnik walked about the room in great agitation. “I don’t understand it! When the Jews were still here we had a lot of Christian customers, too! What’s become of them?”