"It is a suburb of Frankfort."
"Ah! yes, it is a Saxon colony from the days of Charlemagne."
"That is so. So you know that, do you?"
"I also know that you are a fine race, something like the Auvergnats of France. We will settle up when we part."
"That's suits me down to the ground."
"What's your name?
"Lenhart."
"Very well, Lenhart, let us get on then."
The carriage started, scattering the usual crowd of idle spectators. A few minutes brought it to the end of the street leading to the open country. The day was magnificent. The trees had just burst into leaf, and earth had assumed a mantle of green, the soft spring breeze seemed laden with the perfume of flowers. Overhead the birds were already seeking food for their little ones, and awakening Nature appeared to listen to their songs. From time to time a lark arose from among the corn, and ascending high in the air seemed as if floating above the summit of a pyramid of song.
Beholding this magnificent country the traveller exclaimed: "But there must be splendid shooting here, is there not?"