"One must live," Johann added deprecatingly.

"Yes, one must live," replied the Englishman.

"O! but I could sell some fine secrets to the Osians had they
money to pay. Ach! but what is the use? The king has no money;
he is on the verge of bankruptcy, and this pretty bit of scenery
is the cause of it."

"So you are a socialist?" said the Englishman, passing over
Johann's declamatory confidences.

"Yes, Herr. All men are brothers."

"Go to!" laughed the Englishman, "you aren't even a second
cousin to me. But stay, what place is this we are passing?"
indicating with his cane a red-brick mansion which was fronted
by broad English lawns and protected from intrusion by a high
iron fence.


"That is the British legation, Herr."

The Englishman stopped and stared, unconscious of the close
scrutiny of the guide. His eyes traveled up the wide flags
leading to the veranda, and he drew a picture of a square-
shouldered old man tramping backward and forward, the wind
tangling his thin white hair, his hands behind his back, his
chin in his collar and at his heels a white bulldog. Rapidly
another picture came. It was an English scene. And the echo of a