"'No, many thanks, Herr Gainsborough,' replied the little maiden, gravely. 'You owe me nothing; and as for diamonds, I shall never like them, since I have seen them the cause of so much trouble and danger.' "'But unless you let me do something, Christina, I must think you refuse to forgive me for my inexcusable impertinence and stupidity.' "She looked down at her bare feet, and smoothed her apron. 'Well, lieber Herr, I would not like to have you think that, truly; I do forgive you with all my heart; and just before you go away to-morrow--just when you are ready to start--perhaps, if you please, I will ask you for something.' "'You shall have it, whatever it is!' I answered. "So, the next day, when the droschkey was at the door, and my trunk packed and put on the box, I left Herr Rudolph conversing with the driver, and went back into the house to find Christina. She was standing in a shadowy corner of the kitchen, so absorbed in scouring plates that she did not appear to notice me until I spoke. "'I am come to say good-bye, and to claim your promise, Christina.' "She put down her plate, and blushed, with downcast eyes. "'Herr Gainsborough will not be offended? it is something I have no right to ask--only--it will show I am not unforgiving--and--it would be better for me than the diamonds.' "'What is it, dear Christina?' "She looked up in my face, shyly and yet frankly, and said: "'Kiss me!'" IX. This (as nearly as I can recollect it) is the story told me by my friend Tom Gainsborough, as we sat over a decanter of claret after one of his inimitable little dinners. When it was over I gave a grunt, and flung the but-end of my cigar into the grate. "There's one thing I don't understand about this story," I then remarked; "and it has misled me all along. Your description of that creature, Kate--her eyes and eyebrows, complexion, hands, and nationality--all persuaded me it was the present Mrs. Gainsborough. Yet it appears she was nothing of the sort!" "I should think not, indeed!" exclaimed Tom, laughing. "They are as different, even in appearance, as two straight-browed brunettes could possibly be. It is not my fault if you were misled by a description--you who know so well how incurably vague the best descriptions are. Were you to see them side by side, you would acknowledge that they are as little alike as you and I are. As to the American part of it--the truth is they were not really Americans at all: Birchmore and the girl were French; and I in my ignorance mistook their French accent for the Yankee twang. When, several years later, I met some real Americans--and married one of them--I realised my error." "Humph! Well, I daresay you were not more stupid than the majority of your countrymen would have been in your place. But another thing--was all that mesmeric business genuine, or a part of the conspiracy?"