"Gott im Himmel!" almost screamed the terrified damsel. "Do you mean to say that you have killed any one otherwise than in a duel?"

"I can't deny that I have killed a few," Mr. Brent said, cordially, "but never in cold blood."

"How dreadful!" his listener cried.

"But you see, over there," pointing with his cigar into the vague (toward Colorado), "if a man insults you, you must kill him then and there, and you must always be heeled."

"Heeled!" she repeated, puzzled. "Do they always get well?"

Neither understood.

Probably she thinks to this day that a shindy is an exceptionally good hospital.

The Count said, "This room is a very good specimen of Renaissance style."

Mr. Brent replied, "I don't know what 'renny-saunce' means, but this room is the style I like"; and added, "It's bully; and to-morrow I'd like to take a snap-shot of it and of all the company to show mother, if [with his charming smile] you will let me."

"You shall take that and any other thing you like," said the Count. "How long do you intend staying in Europe?"

"That depends," answered Mr. Brent. "I came across the pond because the doctor said I needed rest and change."

"I hope that you have had them both," the Count said, kindly.

"I got the change, all right; but the hotel-keepers got the rest, as the story goes."

Every one laughed and voted the young and clever American perfectly delightful.

The Countess extended her jeweled hand when she bade him good night, the hand that always had been held with reverence and pressed gently to lips, and felt it seized in a grip which made her wince.

"Madame, you are just as sweet as you can be. I cottoned to you right off the minute I saw you, just as I did to 'sonny,' over there," pointing to the n.o.ble scion of the house. The governess made a note of the word "cotton." The Countess was dumfounded; but our young friend seeming so unconscious of having said or done anything out of the way, she simply, instead of resenting what in another would have been most offensive, looked at him with a lovely, motherly smile, and I am sure she wanted to imprint a kiss on his forehead _a la Russe_.

The next morning the Countess mentioned that she had a quant.i.ty of old tapestries somewhere about in the house. "Where are they?" we all exclaimed. "Can we not see them?"

"Certainly, but I do not know where they are," answered the Countess.

"They may be in the stables."

We went there, and sure enough we found, after rummaging about in the large attic, a quant.i.ty of old tapestries: three complete subjects (biblical and pastoral), all of them more or less spoiled by rats and indiscriminate cutting.

It amused me to see in the servants' dining-room some good old pictures, while in ours the walls were covered with modern engravings.

We were about thirty at table, and in the servants' hall there were nearly sixty persons. Lenchen, my old-maid maid, puts on her best and only black- silk dress every day and spends hours over her toilette for dinner.

Mr. Tweed, the English trainer, says that the stables here are among the finest in Germany, and that the Count owns the best race-horses in the land, and is a connoisseur of everything connected with horses.

Our Colorado friend did not seem at all overwhelmed with the splendor of the stables, but with a knowing eye, examining the horses (feet, fetlocks, and all), and without further preliminaries, said, "This one is not worth much, and that one I would not give two cents for, but this fellow,"

pointing to the Count's best racer, "is a beauty."

Mr. Tweed's amazement at this amateur (as he supposed him to be) was turned into admiration when Mr. Brent walked into the paddock, asked for a rope, and proceeded to show us how they la.s.so horses in America. Every one was delighted at this exhibition.

Then Mr. Tweed brought out the most unruly horse he had, which none of the English or German grooms could mount. Mr. Brent advanced cautiously, and with a few coaxing words got the horse to stand quiet long enough for him to pa.s.s his hand caressingly over his neck. But putting the saddle on him was another matter; the horse absolutely refused to be saddled. So what did our American friend do but give one mighty spring and land on the horse's bare back. He dug his strong legs into the sides of the horse, and though the horse kicked and plunged for a while, it succ.u.mbed finally and was brought in tame and meek.

Nothing could have pleased the Count more than this, and the rest of us were lost in admiration.

Mr. Brent invited all the stable-boys _en bloc_ to come over to America to see him; he guessed he "and the boys could teach them a trick or two."

After luncheon Mr. Brent wanted us all to come out on the lawn to be photographed, particularly the Countess, and said to the young Count, "You tackle the missis [meaning the Countess], and I'll get the others."

Of course no one refused. How could we resist such a charmer? Who could ever have believed that this simple, unaffected youth could have so completely won all hearts?

He said to the Countess while "fixing" her for the group, "I wanted you, because you remind me so of my dear old mother." The Countess actually purred with ecstasy; but I don't think she would have liked to be compared to any "old" thing (mother or not) by anybody else. In this case she merely looked up at him and smiled sweetly, and as for the _blase_, stately Count, he simply would not let him out of his sight.

At last the group was arranged according to Mr. Brent's ideas; the host and hostess in the center, while the others cl.u.s.tered around them.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, please look pleasant," said Mr. Brent, and we all took the att.i.tude we remembered to have looked well in on some former occasion, and hoped we looked "pleasant," and that "mother," when contemplating us, would approve of us.

The Count's birthday happened to be on one of these days. Mr. Brent, who had intended to leave, was urged by both him and the Countess to stay. The young Count said, "Papa would be really unhappy if you went away." "That's real nice of him; you bet I'll stay, then." On the day itself he was all- pervading. It was he who hung the heavy garlands and wreaths on the highest poles, agile as a cat, and draped the flags about the escutcheons placed everywhere. He helped the ladies arrange the flowers in the innumerable vases in the salons. He it was who led the applause when the deputation of young people from the village made their speech, and when the Count responded, in his most dignified and courtly manner, Mr. Brent cried out, in a most enthusiastic voice, "Good for you!"

In the evening there were visits from all the surrounding neighborhood; the ladies wore tiaras and all their jewels, and the gentlemen all their decorations; there was a grand supper in the state dining-room. Although I suppose it was the first time Mr. Brent had ever seen such a sight, he did not seem in the least astonished. He circulated about the distinguished company and made himself most agreeable indiscriminately to young and old.

He was in full glory, and certainly was the life of the evening, which finished brilliantly with a grand display of fireworks set off from the tower, so that they could be seen from far and near.

The next day Mr. Brent left. When he bade me good-by he said: "Good-by, ma'am. If I have had a good time here, I owe it all to you." "Oh no, you don't!" I said. "You owe it all to yourself, and you may say to your mother, from me, that you won all hearts."

He sighed and turned away his head, giving my hand an extra squeeze. "If you ever come to Colorado, just ask any one for Johnny Brent, and if I don't stand on my head for you it'll be because I've lost it."

His leave-taking of the Countess was almost pathetic. He held her hand long and tenderly, and said, "I can't find any word, ma'am--I mean, Countess--but--thank you, thank you, that's all I can say."

And the Countess (we thought she would faint) put her hand on his shoulder. He bent his head, and she kissed him on his forehead; and he (were the heavens going to fall?) stooped down and kissed her cheek.

The Count said: "Good-by, my boy. Come again to see us"--and going to the walls where his collection of pistols hung, took one of them and handed it to him "This will remind you of us, but don't kill any one with it."

"Never," said Mr. Brent. "I will hang it round my neck."

Thus departed our American hero, for who but a hero could have stormed such a fortress and broken down all the traditional barriers?

A day or two later we received a visit from royalty, in the person of Prince Frederick Charles of Prussia.

In the evening we played a wonderful game called _taroc_, which was very intricate and almost impossible to learn. Old Baron Kessler, who undertook to teach it to me, got so sleepy that he actually yawned in my face.

This Baron Kessler is quite a character--very clever, very artistic, very musical, and, strange to say, very superst.i.tious. For instance, he wears an old waistcoat which has certain magical grease-spots on Fridays; on Mondays his purse must be in the left pocket of his coat, on Thursdays in his right pocket. He drinks nine times before twelve o'clock on special days, and has a cigar-case for each different day of the week. He hates losing at cards, and when he does it is quite an affair; and I am not sure that prayers are not offered up for him by his family in the chapel on his baronial estates.

The last thing I saw was a vision of Herr Lenning (the head butler), who is sometimes a little shaky himself, helping the Baron up the stairs.

Possibly it was the evening of the nine-drink morning.

Next day we all left, except the old Baron, who for reasons of his own remained.

WEIMAR, _September, 1874._

DEAR M.,--I thought it would be a good idea to go to Weimar, the place _par excellence_ to study German, the Germans, and their literature; and, moreover, my boy might go to school there. Mrs. Kingsland had given me a letter to the Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar, and recommended the place, not because she knew the town, but because she knew the Grand Duke.