"No."
"Your fine teeth. She lets you use your good teeth to crack her hard nuts."
Richard jumped up from his seat embraced Martella, and kissed her.
Martella blushed crimson and called out, "Richard, you are so polite and yet so rude! Is that proper?"
But Richard was quite happy to know that Martella had guessed at what had so often displeased him.
Martella, who never wanted to leave me, one day suddenly expressed a wish to return home. Annette had on the previous evening taken her to the theatre, where a ballet had been produced in addition to the drama. A little child, representing a winged spirit, had descended from above, and Martella had called out in a loud voice, "That hurts!"
All eyes were turned to Annette's box, in which Martella sat with her eyes wide open and looking towards the stage as if oblivious of aught else.
Annette left the theatre with her. Martella could not be induced to utter a single word in explanation of her sudden fright. I was surprised to find how Annette bore this mishap, in which she herself had been subjected to the unkind glances of all the audience. "How strange," said she; "we are all, unconsciously, slaves of ceremony. There seems to be a tacit understanding that every member of a theatre audience or art-gathering must either remain silent or confine himself to one of two childish expressions--clapping the hands and hissing. And here this child is perfectly innocent, and I thank her for having solved another problem for me."
In the morning, Martella wanted to go home. We accompanied her to the depot, and I telegraphed to Rothfuss to meet her at the station.
My active labors for the Fatherland had restored me. In my solitary walks, my mind was now occupied by something besides constant thoughts of myself.