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temperature of the terrace。 Mr。 Clinch and his companion both
insensibly shivered。
But only for a moment。 Mr。 Clinch raised the glass to his lips。
As he did so； he remembered seeing distinctly； as in a picture
before him； the sunlit terrace； the pretty girl in the foreground；
an amused spectator of his sacrilegious act；the outlying ivy…
crowned wall； the grass…grown ditch； the tall factory chimneys
rising above the chestnuts； and the distant poplars that marked the
Rhine。
The wine was delicious； perhaps a TRIFLE； only a trifle； heady。 He
was conscious of a slight exaltation。 There was also a smile upon
the girl's lip and a roguish twinkle in her eye as she looked at
him。
〃Do you find the wine to your taste？〃 she asked。
〃Fair enough； I warrant；〃 said Mr。 Clinch with ponderous gallantry；
〃but methinks 'tis nothing compared with the nectar that grows on
those ruby lips。 Nay； by St。 Ursula； I swear it！〃
No sooner had this solemnly ridiculous speech passed the lips of
the unfortunate man than he would have given worlds to have
recalled it。 He knew that he must be intoxicated； that the
sentiment and language were utterly unlike him； he was miserably
aware； that he did not even know exactly what it meant； he was also
hopelessly conscious。 Yet feeling all this；feeling； too； the
shame of appearing before her as a man who had lost his senses
through a single glass of wine；nevertheless he rose awkwardly；
seized her hand； and by sheer force drew her towards him； and
kissed her。 With an exclamation that was half a cry and half a
laugh； she fled from him； leaving him alone and bewildered on the
terrace。
For a moment Mr。 Clinch supported himself against the open window；
leaning his throbbing head on the cold glass。 Shame； mortification；
an hysterical half…consciousness of his utter ridiculousness； and
yet an odd； undefined terror of something； by turns possessed him。
Was he ever before guilty of such perfect folly？ Had he ever before
made such a spectacle of himself？ Was it possible that he； Mr。
James Clinch； the coolest head at a late supper；he； the American；
who had repeatedly drunk Frenchmen and Englishmen under the
tablecould be transformed into a sentimental； stagey idiot by a
single glass of wine？ He was conscious； too； of asking himself
these very questions in a stilted sort of rhetoric； and with a
rising brutality of anger that was new to him。 And then everything
swam before him； and he seemed to lose all consciousness。
But only for an instant。 With a strong effort of his will he again
recalled himself； his situation； his surroundings； and； above all；
his appointment。 He rose to his feet； hurriedly descended the
terrace…steps； and； before he well knew how； found himself again on
the road。 Once there； his faculties returned in full vigor； he was
again himself。 He strode briskly forward toward the ditch he had
crossed only a few moments before； but was suddenly stopped。 It
was filled with water。 He looked up and down。 It was clearly the
same ditch； but a flowing stream thirty feet wide now separated him
from the other bank。
The appearance of this unlooked…for obstacle made Mr。 Clinch doubt
the full restoration of his faculties。 He stepped to the brink of
the flood to bathe his head in the stream； and wash away the last
vestiges of his potations。 But as he approached the placid depths；
and knelt down he again started back； and this time with a full
conviction of his own madness； for reflected from its mirror…like
surface was a figure he could scarcely call his own； although here
and there some trace of his former self remained。
His close…cropped hair； trimmed a la mode； had given way to long；
curling locks that dropped upon his shoulders。 His neat mustache
was frightfully prolonged； and curled up at the ends stiffly。 His
Piccadilly collar had changed shape and texture； and reacheda
mass of laceto a point midway of his breast！ His boots；why had
he not noticed his boots before？these triumphs of his Parisian
bootmaker； were lost in hideous leathern cases that reached half
way up his thighs。 In place of his former high silk hat； there lay
upon the ground beside him the awful thing he had just taken off；
a mass of thickened felt； flap； feather； and buckle that weighed at
least a stone。
A single terrible idea now took possession of him。 He had been
〃sold；〃 〃taken in；〃 〃done for。〃 He saw it all。 In a state of
intoxication he had lost his way； had been dragged into some vile
den； stripped of his clothes and valuables； and turned adrift upon
the quiet town in this shameless masquerade。 How should he keep
his appointment？ how inform the police of this outrage upon a
stranger and an American citizen？ how establish his identity？ Had
they spared his papers？ He felt feverishly in his breast。 Ah！
his watch？ Yes； a watchheavy； jewelled； enamelledand； by all
that was ridiculous； FIVE OTHERS！ He ran his hands into his
capacious trunk hose。 What was this？ Brooches； chains； finger…
rings；one large episcopal one；ear…rings； and a handful of
battered gold and silver coins。 His papers； his memorandums； his
passportall proofs of his identitywere gone！ In their place
was the unmistakable omnium gatherum of an accomplished knight of
the road。 Not only was his personality； but his character； gone
forever。
It was a part of Mr。 Clinch's singular experience that this last
stroke of ill fortune seemed to revive in him something of the
brutal instinct he had felt a moment before。 He turned eagerly
about with the intention of calling some onethe first person he
metto account。 But the house that he had just quitted was gone。
The wall！ Ah； there it was； no longer purposeless； intrusive； and
ivy…clad； but part of the buttress of another massive wall that
rose into battlements above him。 Mr。 Clinch turned again
hopelessly toward Sammtstadt。 There was the fringe of poplars on
the Rhine； there were the outlying fields lit by the same meridian
sun； but the characteristic chimneys of Sammtstadt were gone。 Mr。
Clinch was hopelessly lost。
The sound of a horn breaking the stillness recalled his senses。 He
now for the first time perceived that a little distance below him；
partly hidden in the trees； was a queer； tower…shaped structure
with chains and pulleys； that in some strange way recalled his
boyish reading。 A drawbridge and portcullis！ And on the
battlement a figure in a masquerading dress as absurd as his own；
flourishing a banner and trumpet； and trying to attract his
attention。
〃Was wollen Sie？〃
〃I want to see the proprietor；〃 said Mr。 Clinch； choking back his
rage。
There was a pause； and the figure turned apparently to consult with
some one behind the battlements。 After a moment he reappeared； and
in a perfunctory monotone； with an occasional breathing spell on
the trumpet； began；
〃You do give warranty as a good knight and true； as well as by the
bones of the blessed St。 Ursula； that you bear no ill will； secret
enmity； wicked misprise or conspiracy； against the body of our
noble lord and master Von Kolnsche？ And you bring with you no
ambush； siege； or surprise of retainers； nei