The still, green trees; the cluster of oval lamps, like great bright ostrich-eggs; the countless little tables like our own; the happy social groups; the waiters running madly about with bif-tecks; the great-lidded goblets of amber-colored Bohemian beer; the young Bavarian officers, in light-blue uniforms, at the next table to us--stalwart, fair-haired boys--I should not altogether mind knowing a few of them; and, over all, the arch of suave, dark, evening sky.
"What shall we have for supper ?" cry I, vivaciously.

"I never can see anybody eating without longing to eat too.

_Blutwurst!_ That means black-pudding, I suppose--certainly not _that_--how they do call a spade a spade in German! By-the-by, what are the soldiers having?
Can you see?
I think I saw a vision of _prawns_! I saw things sticking out like their legs.

I _must_ find out!" I rise, on pretense of getting a little wooden stool from under an unoccupied table close to the object of my curiosity, and, as I stoop to pick it up, I fraudulently glance over the nearest warrior's shoulder.
My sin finds me out.

He turns and catches me in the act, and at the same time a young man--_not_ a warrior, at least not in uniform, but in loose gray British clothes--turns, too, and fixes me with a stony, British stare.