as an onlooker. In Moscow he had often met aristocratic people, with
as thick epaulettes, and more orders than these, but at the sight of
them he had always thought, "They are only barbarous Russians, and I
am a German, although I have no gold lace on my coat." From that
time he had always in his mind connected the use of uniforms, as
outward signs of bravery, with the conception of an ostentatious and
showy barbarism which a civilized European might afford to laugh at.
He had gone further; he regarded rank and titles as only a kind of
clothing of circumstances, which the State lends to certain persons
for useful purposes, just as the wardrobe-keeper at a theater gives
out costumes to the supers. He was so convinced on this point that
he felt sure it was only the stupid yokel at the back of the gallery
who could look with any admiration on a human being merely because
he struts about the stage in purple and gold tinsel.

Wilhelm did not give the impression of a man who was enjoying
himself. His discontented gaze persistently followed one dark head
adorned with a yellow rose.

Loulou, for of course it was she, wore a cream-colored silk crepon
dress. Her little feet in pale yellow satin shoes played at hide-
and-seek under her skirt. She looked charming, and seemed very
happy. She danced with a magic lightness and gracefulness, and she
showed an endurance which had elicited applause and acknowledgments
from her partners. People were delighted with her, and she hardly
allowed herself time to breathe, for as the privileged daughter of
the house, she wandered from one partner to another, trying hard to
offend as few of her admirers as possible by a refusal. But Wilhelm
had no cause for jealousy, as her sparkling eyes continually sought
his, and as often as she danced near him she gave him an