“We can make a few inquiries concerning them.  They certainly are people of importance here.”

“I don’t see the name on any of the brewery signs around town,” observed Anguish, consolingly.  “There’s evidently no Guggenslocker here.”

They strolled through the streets near the hotel until after six o’clock, wondering at the quaint architecture, the pretty gardens and the pastoral atmosphere that enveloped the city.  Everybody was busy, contented, quiet and happy.  There was no bustle or strife, no rush, no beggars.  At six they saw hundreds of workingmen on the streets, going to their homes; shops were closed and there came to their ears the distant boom of cannon, evidently fired from different points of the compass and from the highland as well as the lowland.

“The toy army is shooting off the good-night guns,” speculated Anguish.  “I suppose everybody goes to bed now.

“Or to dinner,” substituted Lorry, and they returned to the Regengetx.  The dining hall was spacious and beautiful, a mixture of the oriental and the mediaeval.  It rapidly filled.

“Who the dickens can all these people be?  They look well,” Anguish whispered, as if he feared their nearest neighbors might understand his English.

“They are unquestionably of the class in which we must expect to find the Guggenslockers.”

Before the meal was over the two strangers saw that they were attracting a great deal of attention from the other guests of the house.  The women, as well as the men, were eyeing them and commenting quite freely, it was easy to see.  These two handsome, smooth-faced young Americans were as men from another world, so utterly unlike their companions were they in personal appearance.  They were taller, broader and more powerfully built than the swarthy-faced men about them, and it was no wonder that the women allowed admiration to show in their eyes.  Toward the end of the dinner several officers came in, and the Americans took particular pains to study them.  They were cleanly-built fellows, about medium height, wiry and active.  As a class, the men appeared to average five feet seven inches in height, some a little taller, some a little shorter.  The two strangers were over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and athletic.  They looked like giants among these Graustark men.

“They’re not very big, but they look as if they’d be nasty in a scrap,” observed Anguish, unconsciously throwing out his chest.

“Strong as wildcats, I’ll wager.  The women are perfect, though.  Have you ever seen a smarter set of women, Harry?”

“Never, never!  A paradise of pretty women.  I believe I’ll take out naturalization papers.”

When the two strangers left the dining-room they were conscious that every eye in the place was upon them.  They drew themselves to their full height and strode between the tables toward the door, feeling that as they were on exhibition they ought to appear to the best advantage.  During the evening they heard frequent allusions to “the Americans,” but could not understand what was said.  The hotel men were more than obsequious; the military men and citizens were exceedingly deferential; the women who strolled on the piazza or in the great garden back of the hotel were discreetly curious.