"Which of the gentlemen is so reckless?" asked Sabine, severely.
"It is Herr von Fink," was the reply; "he has a habit of constantly running his fork through the napkins. It goes to my heart, Miss Sabine; but what can I do?"
Sabine hung her head. "I knew that it was he," she sighed; "but we can not go on thus. I will give you a set for Herr von Fink's use, and we must sacrifice it." She went to the cupboard, and began to look for one, but the choice was difficult; the beautiful table-linen was dear to her heart. At length, with a lingering look at the pattern, she sorrowfully laid a set on the servant's arm.
Franz still lingered. "He has burned a curtain in his bed-room," said he; "the pair is spoiled."
"And they were quite new!" sighed Sabine again. "Take them away to-morrow. What more, Franz? What else has happened?"
"Ah! ma'am," replied the servant, mysteriously, "Herr von Fink has insulted Herr Wohlfart, who is quite raging, and Herr Specht says there is to be a duel."
"A duel!" cried Sabine; "you must have misunderstood Herr Specht."
"No, indeed, ma'am, it's all too true. Something dreadful will happen. Herr Wohlfart brushed past me angrily, and did not touch his tea."
"Has my brother returned?"
"He does not come back till late to-day; he is on committee."