“The vomens is not to be trusted,” the German said sadly.  “I knew a voman in my own country which was the daughter of a man dat kept a hotel—­and she and I was promised to be married to each others.  Karl Hagelstein, he was to be vat you call my best man.  A very handsome man was Karl, and I sent him often mit little presents of one thing or another to my girl, for there were reasons why I could not go myself.  He was nicer than me because my hair was red, and pretty soon she began to like him, and he liked her too.  So the day before the vedding she went down the Rhine to Frankfort by the boat, and he went down by train, and there they met and was married the one to the other.”

“And what did you do?” the major asked with interest.

“Ah, dat was the most worst thing of all, for I followed them mit a friend of mine, and when we caught them I did not let her know, but I called him out of his hotel, and I told him that he must fight me.  Dat vos a mistake.  I should have done him an insult, and then he vould have had to ask me to fight, and I could have chosen my own veapon.  As it was he chose swords, for he knew veil that I knew nothing of them, and he had been the best fencer in the whole of his University.  Then we met in the morning, and before I had time to do anything he ran me through the left lung.  I have shown you the mark of it.  After dat I vas in bed for two month and more, and it still hurts me ven de veather is cold.  That is vat they call satisfaction,” Baumser added, pulling his long red beard reflectively.  “To me it has ever seemed the most dissatisfactory thing that could be imagined.”

“I don’t wonder you’re afraid of the women after that,” said the major, laughing.  “There are plenty of good women in the world, though, if you have the luck to come across them.  D’ye know a young fellow called Dimsdale—?  Ah, you wouldn’t, but I’ve met him lately at the club.  He’s got a girl who’s the adopted daughter of that same ould Girdlestone that we talk about.  I saw the two of them togither one day as happy as a pair of young love birds.  Sure, you’ve only got to look at her face to see that she’s as good as gold.  I’ll bet that that woman over the strate there is another of the right sort.”

“Dat voman is alvays in your head,” the German said, with a smile.  “You shall certainly dream about her to-night.  I remember a voman in Germany—­” And so these two Bohemians rambled on into the small hours, discoursing upon their past experiences and regaling each other with many reminiscences, some of which, perhaps, are just as well omitted and allowed to sink into oblivion.  When the major finally retired for the night, his last thought was of the lady at the window and of the means by which he might contrive to learn something of her.

These proved to be more easy than he anticipated, for next morning, on cross-examining the little servant girl from whom Von Baumser had derived his information, the major found out all that he desired to know.  According to this authority, the lady was a widow of the name of Scully, the relict of a deceased engineer, and had been staying some little time at Morrison’s, which was the rival establishment to that in which the major and Von Baumser resided.