CHAPTER IX.
I had just given a porter the necessary directions for taking my portmanteau to Mr.Keller's house, when I heard a woman's voice behind me asking the way to the Poste Restante--or, in our roundabout English phrase, the office of letters to be left till called for.
The voice was delightfully fresh and sweet, with an undertone of sadness, which made it additionally interesting.

I did what most other young men in my place would have done--I looked round directly.
Yes! the promise of the voice was abundantly kept by the person.

She was quite a young girl, modest and ladylike; a little pale and careworn, poor thing, as if her experience of life had its sad side already.

Her face was animated by soft sensitive eyes--the figure supple and slight, the dress of the plainest material, but so neatly made and so perfectly worn that I should have doubted her being a German girl, if I had not heard the purely South-German accent in which she put her question.

It was answered, briefly and civilly, by the conductor of the post-carriage in which I had traveled.