'Not shameful - true,' returned Otto. 'O, yes - true. I am all
they said of me - all that and worse.'

'I never!' cried 'Ottilia. 'Is that how you do? Well, you would
never be a soldier. Now if any one accuses me, I get up and give it
them. O, I defend myself. I wouldn't take a fault at another
person's hands, no, not if I had it on my forehead. And that's what
you must do, if you mean to live it out. But, indeed, I never heard
such nonsense. I should think you was ashamed of yourself! You're
bald, then, I suppose?'

'O no,' said Otto, fairly laughing. 'There I acquit myself: not
bald!'

'Well, and good?' pursued the girl. 'Come now, you know you are
good, and I'll make you say so. . . . Your Highness, I beg your
humble pardon. But there's no disrespect intended. And anyhow, you
know you are.'

'Why, now, what am I to say?' replied Otto. 'You are a cook, and
excellently well you do it; I embrace the chance of thanking you for
the ragout. Well now, have you not seen good food so bedevilled by
unskilful cookery that no one could be brought to eat the pudding?
That is me, my dear. I am full of good ingredients, but the dish is
worthless. I am - I give it you in one word - sugar in the salad.'

'Well, I don't care, you're good,' reiterated Ottilia, a little
flushed by having failed to understand.

'I will tell you one thing,' replied Otto: 'You are!'