a lock of hair enclosed in paper. "Look--a lock of somebody's hair! Come
and see!"

Milde joined her.

"Leave that alone!" he said and took his cigar out of his mouth. "However
did that get in there? Did you ever--hair from my last love, so to speak!"

This was sufficient to make everybody laugh. The Journalist shouted:

"But have you seen Milde's collection of corsets? Out with the corsets,
Milde!"

And Milde did not refuse; he went into one of the side rooms and brought
forth his package. There were both white and brown ones; the white ones
were a little grey, and Mrs. Paulsberg asked in surprise:

"But--have they been used?"

"Of course; why do you think Milde collects them? Where would be their
sentimental value otherwise?" And the Journalist laughed heartily, happy
to be able to twist even this word around.

But the corpulent Milde wrapped his corsets together and said:

"This is a little specialty of mine, a talent--But what the dickens are
you all gaping at? It is my own corsets; I have used them myself--don't
you understand? I used them when I began to grow stout; I laced and
thought it would help. But it helped like fun!"