“You are assuming to know his rank, papa,” whispered Sara, who watched me closely during the whole interrogatory.
“Let him answer my question,” rejoined the old man, roughly.
“Perhaps not all,” said I, half amused at the puzzle I was becoming to them.
“Then how came it your fortune to know them,—that is, if you do know them?”
Slipping out of his question, I replied, “Nothing can be easier than to test that point. There are gentlemen here whose acquirements go far beyond mine.”
“Your German is very good,” said Sara. “Let me hear you speak French.”
“It is too much honor for me,” said I, bowing, “to address you at all.”
“Is your Italian as neat in accent as that?” asked a lady near.
“I believe I am best in Italian,—of course, after English,—for I always talked it with my music-master, as well as with my teacher.”
“Music-master!” cried Herr Ignaz; “what phoenix have we here?”