"No; just let the dog be loose."
The Major was quite in despair that he could not do something to show honor to his guests.
After a while he came back in triumph, for he had done something which was a great sacrifice for him; he had begged the Grand-master's cook to give him a pitcher of fresh cream. He scarcely ever borrowed anything, but to-day an exception must be made.
He managed to place the pitcher upon the table unnoticed by Fräulein Milch, and put his hand up to his mouth to keep himself from laughing outright, when he thought of the Fräulein's astonishment at finding sweet cream upon the table.
He did still more. He went into the sitting-room and dragged his great, leather-covered easy-chair into the garden, for the Professorin to sit in; but when Fräulein Milch came out, she surprised him by pointing out that the easy-chair would not bear the bright sunlight out-of-doors. They carried it back together.
"Sha'n't we go to meet them?" said the Major, who had taken out his spy-glass; "just look through,—stop, I'll alter it,—there; I think there's somebody in sight down yonder."
Fräulein Milch begged him to be quiet, and the Major looked now as if he were ready to weep. Laying his hand on Fräulein Milch's shoulder, he said,—
"It's hard—very hard—cruel—bad—very bad—very cruel that I can't say, Here, Frau Dournay, here is my wife."
Fräulein Milch wheeled about swiftly, and there was a freezing coldness in her whole demeanor.
"For Heaven's sake, what's the matter?"