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The old scar showed strangely white in his purple face, as he left the mill, vowing vengeance for the affront. Rauchen and his daughter were now more solitary than ever. The father had forgotten the roaring stories he used to tell to the neighboring peasants, over foaming flagons of ale, at the little inn; he sat at his mill-door and smoked incessantly.
On our way from Frankfort to Halle, in a "nich rauchen" car, too, a jolly old gentleman, whose joyous and abundant German sounded to me like the clatter of a thousand of brick, wound up a kind of promiscuous avalanche of declamation by pulling a matchbox from his pocket, and proceeding deliberately to light his pipe. The tobacco was detestable.
And over all the odor of cabbage salad, and the "Nicht Rauchen" sign, and an acrimonious discussion on eugenics between an American woman doctor named Gates and a German matron who had had fifteen children, and who reduced every general statement to a personal insult. Peter followed Harmony as soon as he dared. Her door was closed, and she was playing very softly, so as to disturb no one.
From Eisenach, where we dined cozily in the railroad station house, we took the cars for Cassel. After we had established ourselves comfortably in a nich rauchen car, a gentleman, followed by a friend, came to the door with a cigar in his mouth. Seeing ladies, he inquired if he could smoke. Comprehending his look and gesture, we said, "No."
The story reached the ears of Rauchen, at last. With a fierce energy, such as he had never exhibited before, he tracked it from cottage to cottage, until he came to Schönfeld's housekeeper, who refused to give her authority. The next market-day Rauchen encountered the former suitor and publicly charged him with the slander, in such terms as his baseness deserved.
Filial affection, however, did not so far engross him as to prevent his casting admiring glances on the lovely Katrine, daughter of old Rauchen, the miller; and no wonder, for she was as fascinating a damsel as ever dazzled and perplexed a bashful lover.
Merrihew smiled weakly and signified that he did not understand. "Nicht rauchen!" cried the official in desperation. Merrihew extended his hands hopelessly. He had nothing belonging to the conductor. Hillard had the tickets. "Niet rooken! Niet rooken!" "I say, Jack, what the deuce does he want, anyhow?" "Cigare, cigare!" The conductor gesticulated toward the window. "Oh!"
He stated to Major von Lutzow that, if he did not happen to be emperor, he would not allow any one to prevent him from volunteering in his Legion of Vengeance; and to Theodore Korner, in proof of the admiration he felt for his poems, he recited the first verses of his patriotic song, "Frisch auf, mein Volk, die Flammenzeichen rauchen."
"Take this path!" urged another, "for the...." but they flew by too fast to read the end of the message, while the path pursued them a little way among the pines, then turned abruptly away. "Do not smoke here ... Nicht rauchen," "NICHT RAUCHEN," "Rauchen streng verboten," cried the notices, in furious impotent voices.
It was when he had pushed his plate away and lighted a cigarette according to the custom of the pension, which accorded the "Nicht Rauchen" sign the same attention that it did to the portrait of the deceased Herr Schwarz that he turned to her again. "I am sorry you are not able to walk. It promises a nice night." Peter was clever.
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