has let the subject of Baden-Baden alone for the whole day, that she had
quite given up going there, but I know Bee. She has left Jimmie and me
to defend the front of the fortress, while she is bringing all her
troops up in the rear. Bee does not believe in a charge with plenty of
shouting and galloping and noise. Bee's manoeuvres never raise any dust,
but on a flank movement, a midnight sortie or an ambush, Bee could
outgeneral Napoleon and Alexander and General Grant and every other man
who has helped change the maps of the world. Only by indication and past
sad experience do I know what she is up to. One thing to-day has given
me a clue. I have a necktie--the only really saucy thing about the whole
of my wardrobe, the only distinguishing smartness to my toilet--upon
which Bee has fixed her affection, and which she means to get away from
me. I don't know how I came to buy it in the first place. However, I
sha'n't have it long. Bee is bargaining for it--that means that we are
going to Baden-Baden. She is not openly bargaining, for that would let
me know how much she wants it, but she has admired it pointedly. She
tied my veil on for me this morning, and even as I write, she is sewing
a button on my glove. Bee in the politest way possible is going to force
me to give her that tie. I wish she wouldn't, for I really need it, but
I must get all the wear I expect to have out of it in the next two days,
for by the end of the week, if these attentions continue, that Charvet
tie will belong to Bee.

Last night, as soon as we arrived and had our dinner, we went to the
Orangerie. This great park with myriads of walks is one of the most
attractive things about Strasburg. A very good band was playing a Sousa
march as we came in and took our seats at one of the little tables.

But just here let me record something which has surprised me all during
my travels in Europe; and that is the small amount of good music one