"That must have the place of honor," I cried, much moved by their friendliness, as I swept the books off the table. "It is truly a wonderful cake."
Hardly had they gone when a second knock sounded, and in response to my "Herein!" in came the servants in a row, headed by Georg, the butler. Twisting the buttons of his livery, he made a little speech very fast, all of which I could not understand, but the burden of it was a wish that the lieber Gott would keep gnädiges Fräulein in health and happiness all her days. Then he shook me warmly by the hand. The maids followed, each wishing me good fortune in some pretty couplet, and with a quaint little courtesy also shaking my hand. It was all done with such delightful simplicity that I can never forget it.
But this was not all the kindness I received, for when we went out to dinner, there on my plate was a beautiful basket of white roses from my "friends in the pension." I did not know what to say in my surprise, so I only exclaimed Danke Tausendmal (a thousand thanks), and sat down quickly, lest I should cry or do some equally foolish thing.
Just as we were leaving the room after dinner Frau von Waldfel came up to me, her niece by her side.
"I want to tell you, my dear, that I sent to Nuremberg for some Lebkuchen in honor of your birthday," she said. "You will find the package in your room. They tried to persuade me in the shops," she added, lowering her voice to a whisper, "that the Lebkuchen they sell here are as good as the genuine article, but I know better, and these are the real Nuremberg ones, famous the world over."
I thanked her heartily for her thoughtfulness, assuring her that I had often read of them in my fairy-tale books. Then they both shook hands and Fräulein Hartmann, blushing slightly, leaned over and kissed me.
"It is the custom," she said shyly, "and perhaps you will miss your American friends less on this day if you realize you have made new ones here." Wasn't it sweet of her?
In the evening we celebrated by going to the Populäres Konzert—the Baron and Baroness, Herr Doktor, Lieutenant Linder, Mütterchen, and myself. It was held in the Kaim Saal, where the Weingartner concerts are given, and rendered by the same orchestra under the leadership of Scharrer. In place of the rows of seats were substituted tables as at our "Pops" at home. The hall was extremely crowded when we entered and we did not at first obtain a table where we could sit together. Mütterchen and I took places at one in the rear, and I noticed after we had been seated a few moments the disagreeable expression on the faces of the strangers at the table. In fact, two of them looked seriously offended and made some remark to each other, sotto voce, with a glance towards us. In bewilderment I wondered what could have destroyed their equanimity, for they seemed placid enough when we first came in. Suddenly it flashed across me.
"Don't you remember," I whispered to Mütterchen, "Edith told us the other day it was the custom to bow to those sitting at table whenever we took a seat with them? We didn't do it, hence this atmosphere of ungracious toleration."
Mütterchen looked alarmed, but just then the lieutenant came up to take us to a table large enough for our whole party, and we soothed the wounded feelings of those we had so unconsciously offended by bestowing the most cordial of bows as we went away.