“Sare, I beg your pardon,” he beamed with a graciousness that charmed Mrs. Gallosh even more than his spirited conversation—­“Ach, do not return it, please!  It is from my castle silver—­keep it in memory of zis happy night!”

The royal generosity of this act almost reconciled Mrs. Gallosh to the loss of one of her own silver spoons.

“Saved!” sighed Bunker, draining his glass with a relish he had not felt in any item of the feast hitherto.

Now that the Baron’s courage had returned, no heraldic lion ever pranced more bravely.  His laughter, his jests, his compliments were showered upon the delighted diners.  Mr. Gallosh and he drank healths down the whole length of the table “mit no tap-heels!” at least four times.  He peeled an orange for Miss Gallosh, and cut the skin into the most diverting figures, pressing her hand tenderly as he presented her with these works of art.  He inquired of Mrs. Gallosh the names of the clergymen, and, shouting something distantly resembling these, toasted them each and all with what he conceived to be appropriate comments.  Finally he rose to his feet, and, to the surprise and delight of all, delivered the speech they had been disappointed of earlier in the day.

“Goot Mr. Gallosh, fair Mrs. Gallosh, divine Mees Gallosh, and all ze ladies and gentlemans, how sorry I vas I could not make my speech before, I cannot eggspress.  I had a headache, and vas not vell vithin.  Ach, soch zings vill happen in a new climate.  Bot now I am inspired to tell you I loff you all!  I zank you eggstremely!  How can I return zis hospitality?  I vill tell you!  You must all go to Bavaria and stay mit——­”

“Tulliwuddle!  Tulliwuddle!” shouted Bunker frantically, to the great amazement of the company.  “Allow me to invite the company myself to stay with me in Bavaria!”

The Baron turned crimson, as he realized the abyss of error into which he had so nearly plunged.  Adroitly the Count covered his confusion with a fit of laughter so ingeniously hearty that in a moment he had joined in it too.

“Ha, ha, ha!” he shouted.  “Zat was a leetle joke at my friend’s eggspense.  It is here, in my castle, you shall visit me; some day very soon I shall live in him.  Meanvile, dear Mrs. Gallosh, gonsider it your home!  For me you make it heaven, and I cannot ask more zan zat!  Now let us gom and have some fon!”

A salvo of applause greeted this conclusion.  At the Baron’s impetuous request the cigars were brought into the hall, and ladies and gentlemen all trooped out together.

“I cannot vait till I have seen Miss Gallosh dance ze Highland reel,” he explained to her gratified mother; “she has promised me.”

“But you must dance too, Lord Tulliwuddle,” said ravishing Miss Gallosh.  “You know you said you would.”

“A promise to a lady is a law,” replied the Baron gallantly, adding in a lower tone, “especially to so fair a lady!”