As a gift from heaven for my forbearance, down the path towards us came the Herr Rat, angelically clad in a white silk suit. He and Frau Fischer were old friends. She drew the folds of her dressing?gown together, and made room for him on the little green bench.

“How cool you are looking,” she said; “and if I may make the remark – what a beautiful suit!”

“Surely I wore it last summer when you were here? I brought the silk from China – smuggled it through the Russian customs by swathing it round my body. And such a quantity: two dress lengths for my sister?in?law, three suits for myself, a cloak for the housekeeper of my flat in Munich. How I perspired! Every inch of it had to

be washed afterwards.”

“Surely you have had more adventures than any man in Germany. When I think of the time that you spent in Turkey with a drunken guide who was bitten by a mad dog and fell over a precipice into a field of attar of roses, I lament that you have not written a book.”

“Time – time. I am getting a few notes together. And now that you are here we shall renew our quiet little talks after supper. Yes? It is necessary and pleasant for a man to find relaxation in the company of women occasionally.”

“Indeed I realise that. Even here your life is too strenuous – you are so sought after – so admired. It was just the same with my dear husband. He was a tall, beautiful man, and sometimes in the evening he would come down into the kitchen and say: ‘Wife, I would like to be stupid for two minutes.’ Nothing rested him so much then as for

me to stroke his head.”

The Herr Rat’s bald pate glistening in the sunlight seemed symbolical of the sad absence of a wife.

I began to wonder as to the nature of these quiet little after?supper talks. How could one play Delilah to so shorn a Samson?

“Herr Hoffmann from Berlin arrived yesterday,” said the Herr Rat.

“That young man I refuse to converse with. He told me last year that he had stayed in France in an hotel where they did not have serviettes; what a place it must have been! In Austria even the cabmen have serviettes. Also I have heard that he discussed ‘free love’ with Bertha as she was sweeping his room. I am not accustomed to such company. I had suspected him for a long time.”

“Young blood,” answered the Herr Rat genially. “I have had several disputes with him – you have heard them – is it not so?” turning to me.

“A great many,” I said, smiling.

“Doubtless you too consider me behind the times. I make no secret of my age; I am sixty-nine; but you must have surely observed how impossible it was for him to speak at all when I raised my voice.”

I replied with the utmost conviction, and, catching Frau Fischer’s eye, suddenly realised I had better go back to the house and write some letters.