For the first few weeks, at least, you would suppose the Baron to have no time for thought beyond official receptions and unofficial dinners; yet as he looked from his drawing-room windows into the gardens of Belgrave Square upon the second afternoon since they had settled into this great mansion, it was not upon such functions that his fancy ran.
Nobody was more fond of gaiety, nobody more appreciative of purple and fine linen, than the Baron von Blitzenberg; but as he mused there he began to recall more and more vividly, and with an ever rising pleasure, quite different memories of life in London.

Then by easy stages regret began to cloud this reminiscent satisfaction, until at last he sighed-- "Ach, my dear London! How moch should I enjoy you if I were free!" For the benefit of those who do not know the Baron either personally or by repute, he may briefly be described as an admirably typical Teuton.
When he first visited England (some five years previously) he stood for Bavarian manhood in the flower; now, you behold the fruit.

As magnificently mustached, as ruddy of skin, his eye as genial, and his impulses as hearty; he added to-day to these two more stone of Teutonic excellences incarnate.
In his ingenuous glance, as in the more rounded contour of his waistcoat, you could see at once that fate had dealt kindly with him.
Indeed, to hear him sigh was so unwonted an occurrence that the Baroness looked up with an air of mild surprise.
"My dear Rudolph," said she, "you should really open the window.

You are evidently feeling the heat." "No, not ze heat," replied the Baron.
He did not turn his head towards her, and she looked at him more anxiously.
"What is it, then?
I have noticed a something strange about you ever since we landed at Dover.

Tell me, Rudolph!" Thus adjured, he cast a troubled glance in her direction.