The village of Peissenberg—set upon a hill—is very picturesque. It is inhabited mostly by mine-workers. In the daytime the male population lives underground. When we went out for our every-day walk, the women on their doorsteps dropped us a curtsey with a muttered “_Grüss Gott_.” Sergy goes out on excursions sometimes. One afternoon he went to Steinberg, where he took the boat plying on the Lake Wurm. He met on board a very pretty and stylish woman, the Countess Dürkheim née Princess Bobrinsky, a compatriot of ours, who had married an aide-de-camp of the King of Bavaria. The Countess expressed her desire to make my acquaintance and wrote a note to me asking us to dine on the following day at Rothenbuch, the Dürkheims’ beautiful estate at two hours’ drive from Peissenberg. I scribbled off a line to say that I regretted I was unable to accept her amiable invitation, not being very well, but if she would come to see me, I should be very pleased. And the Countess came the next day. At the end of the week, we drove down to Rothenbuch to return her call. On approaching their estate, there came a sound of music from the forest surrounding the fine old mansion. The Countess and her husband came to meet us on the verge of the forest, and led us over a velvet lawn to a nook under a group of old trees where there was tea and cakes and all sorts of things laid on a long table, at which sat numerous guests, including the priest of the parish and the schoolmaster. The whole company went afterwards to shoot at targets near the brewery, where we saw a huge barrel filled with beer. The pencil drawings on the walls of the brew-house, of life-sized faces, depict every drunken emotion that the human face is capable of expressing, and represent red-nosed drunkards belonging to all classes of society, with a constable and a monk in the number. The young Count in shooting get-up, with his gun on the shoulder, looked very sportsmanlike. He is the best shot in the country, and now he carried off the first prize—a good fat goose. Then our hosts led us to inspect their magnificent property. The “Schloss” is a formidable square building with rounded towers at the four corners, full of mediæval reminiscences. The grounds around are beautifully kept. As we were driven back to Peissenberg, we were overtaken by a terrible storm; the thunder rolled, preceded by dazzling lightning, and rain began to fall heavily. We came home drenched to the skin; my dress had the heavy soapy look that bathing-suits have, and my hat looked a sad object with its plume hanging lamentably, and rivulets of water falling from its brim.