"Dear father," said the Major, "I believe I have not yet acquainted you with my darling wish."
"I do not remember your having done so."
"My request is, that when we leave, Bertha and the children should remain with you until the end of the campaign, which from present indications will not extend to your neighborhood.
"They are now, at last, constructing a telegraph line through your valley--it has been deemed a military necessity, and that will enable us to hear from each other with dispatch."
"And will you accept an unbidden guest?" interposed Annette. "I know that you will say 'yes,' and I promise you that I will be quite good and docile."
I extended my hand to her, while she continued:
"You know that it has for a long while been my wish to be permitted to spend some time with your wife. Iphigenia in the forest, in the German pine forest! Oh, how charming it was of your father-in-law to name his daughter so! Are pretty names only intended for books? Of course, Grecian Iphigenia should not knit stockings. Did not your father-in-law begin to translate Goethe's 'Iphigenia' into Greek, but fail to complete it? Is not Iphigenia too long a name for daily use? How do you address your wife?"
"By her middle name, Gustava."
"Ah, how lovely! 'Madame Gustava.' And the forest child? I presume she is still with you? And now I shall at last become acquainted with your noble and faithful servant, Rothfuss, who said that 'one who is drenched to the skin need not dread the rain.'"
As far as our all-engrossing anxiety would permit it, Annette's volubility and liveliness contributed greatly to our relief.