“You, new der Mundel,” she said; “Two Hundert they call you. What for you hier?”
“I’ve lost my way. I can’t find my room,” said Marion, still laughing.
“What der Raum?”
Marion was startled. Was this an insane woman who was walking at large in the corridors? What sort of a jargon was this she was talking to her?
Had it been wholly German, or even correct German, Marion would have understood her, at least in part; but this language, what was it? The speaker, much to the amusement of the whole school, used a curious medley of neither English nor German in her attempt to speak the English, seeming to forget the proper use of her own language.
Marion answered her now with a half-frightened, “Ma’am?”
“You not stand under me? I am your teacher, German. I am Fräulein Sausmann. Berlin I vas born. I teach you der German. Come, tell me, Two Hundert, vere vas your der Raum, vat you call it? Your apartament, vere you seep?” shutting up her small eyes tight, and leaning her head on one hand, to represent a pillow.
“The guest-room,” said Marion, now understanding her. 15
“Der guest-room? Oui, oui, Madamoselle. I chapperon you,—come!”
Seizing one of Marion’s hands, she led her to her room, opening the door, then, standing on the tips of her small feet and kissing her on both cheeks, she said in English, “Good-night,” kissed her own hand, and, throwing the kiss toward Marion, disappeared.