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"But which is the place," asked Mr. George, speaking very deliberately and plainly, "which is the place where we are to be left by the carriage to stay on Sunday? Is it Rolandseck or Koenigswinter?" "Yes, sare," said the porter, making a very polite bow. "Yes, sare, you will go to Rolandseck, and to Kreitzberg, and to Gottesberg, and if you please you can stop at Poppensdorf."
You will go to Poppensdorf and to Kreitzberg, and then you will go to Gottesberg, and then you will go to Rolandseck, where there is a boat that will take you to Drachenfels, or to Koenigswinter." He said all this with so strong a German accent, and pronounced the barbarous words with so foreign an intonation, that no trace or impression whatever was left by them on Mr. George's ear.
Here were arranged the cabinets which Mr. George had been to see that morning. Passing this place, the carriage gradually ascended a long hill, on the summit of which, half concealed by groves of trees, was an ancient-looking church. Mr. George had seen this hill before from the windows of the hotel, and knew it must be the Kreitzberg. "He is taking us to the Kreitzberg," said Mr. George.
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