Dulcie gave a little laugh. “Why, a lot of them are for me,” she cried, beginning to tear them open. “You were right; they are from the wives. And oh, such high-sounding titles!” She shuffled her notes into a pile. “I’ll read them later.” The troublesome tie finally in place, Mr. Hammond put on his coat, smacked down his thick white hair, and they descended to the lounge, where a delegation awaited them. The burgomaster met them with a long address of welcome, to which all the Germans present listened attentively, as though to show that they approved thoroughly. Dulcie studied their heavy, intelligent faces. Across the weatherbeaten cheeks of a number of the older men ran jagged scars. Newer, livid seams puckered the faces of a couple of the younger officers, brands from Heidelberg duels. Young and old alike stood straight, feet firmly planted, heads proudly poised on their thick necks. “They are glad they are men, and Germans, and want everybody to know it,” thought Dulcie. The luncheon was a heavy meal, punctuated by heavy speeches and encored by heavy voices barking “_Hoch, hoch!_” appreciatively. Mr. Hammond enjoyed every moment of it. The utterances of those clear, keen, lucid minds were well worth listening to, especially as he spoke German fluently. Dulcie, also easily conversant with the language, was greatly interested; but David was lost. His French was fairly good, although of the prep-school type, but the guttural polysyllables of the Germans left him gasping. After the luncheon came a drive, which was in reality a parade designed to show the visitors to the inhabitants of the city. Hundreds of people had come from Berlin and elsewhere to see the great American dirigible, her officers, her crew and her passengers. Every hotel and boarding house was filled to capacity. To the German mind their advent was an educational opportunity which must be followed up. The procession wound up at the landing field where the visitors were shown all the latest improvements on the German dirigibles. New materials for frame construction, covering, and so forth, all under severe tests of every possible sort. This airport was the home of the first Zeppelin. It was here that Count Zeppelin spent his time and energy; a wonderful old man, who defied age and went gallantly on, working, planning and constructing, until at last he had the great happiness of tasting success. They were taken to Count Zeppelin’s office, left as he had used it. The walls were covered with pictures of dirigibles and photographs of engines. Otherwise the room was bare and severe, the room of a man whose whole heart was so entirely in his great work that he found no space for non-essentials. His name is justly revered and honored by every German, and never while a dirigible flies will any country fail to pay homage to his illustrious memory.