“By all the Saints,” thought the terrified Madame Doppeldick, “he will be for packing off to bed at once!”—and in the vain hope of inducing him to sup beforehand, she seized, yes, she actually seized the devoted dish of oysters, and made them relieve guard, with the home-made bacon, just under the Captain’s nose. It was now honest Dietrich’s turn to try to catch the eyes of posts, and tread on the toes of stock-fish; however, for this time the natives were safe.
“By your leave, Madame,” said the abominable voice through the moustachios,
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 “I will take nothing except a candle. What with the heavy rain at first, and then the horse artillery ploughing up our marching ground, I am really dog-tired with my day’s work. If you will do me the favour, therefore, to show me to my chamber——”
 
“WHAT NEXT?” AS THE FROG SAID WHEN HIS TAIL FELL OFF.
“Not for the whole world!” exclaimed the horrified Madame Doppeldick—“not for the whole world, I mean, till you have hob-and-nobbed with us—at least with the good man”—and, like a warm-hearted hostess, jealous of the honour of her hospitality, she snatched up the spare-candle, and hurried off to the barrel. If she could but set them down to drinking, she calculated, let who would be the second, she would herself be the first in bed, if she jumped into it with all her clothes on. It was a likely scheme enough,—but alas! it fell through, like the rest!—Before she had drawn half a flask of Essigberger, or Holzapfelheimer, for I forget which—she was alarmed by the
[Pg 216]
 double screech of two chairs pushed suddenly back on the uncarpeted floor. Then came a trampling of light and heavy feet—and although she dropped the bottle—and forgot to turn the spigot—and carried the candle without the candlestick—and left her left slipper behind her,—still, in spite of all the haste she could make, she only reached the stair-foot just in time to see two Prussian-blue coat-tails, turned up with red, whisking in at the bed-room door!
CHAPTER VII.
“OH the cruel, the killing ill-luck that pursues us!” exclaimed the forlorn Madame Doppeldick, as her husband returned, with his mouth watering, to the little parlour, where, by some sort of attraction, he was drawn into the Captain’s vacant chair, instead of his own. In a few seconds the plumpest of Adam Kloot’s tender souvenirs, of about the size and shape of a penny bun, was sliding over his tongue. Then another went—and another—and another. They were a little gone or so, and no wonder; for they had travelled up the Rhine and the Moselle, in a dry “schiff,” not a “dampschiff,” towed by real horse-powers, instead of steam-powers, against the stream. To tell the naked truth, there were only four words in the world that a respectably fresh Cod’s head could have said to them, namely—

No matter: down they went glibly, glibly. The lemon-juice did something for them, and the vinegar still more, by making them seem sharp instead of flat. Honest Dietrich enjoyed them as mightily as Adam Kloot could have wished; and was in no humour, you may be sure, for spinning prolix answers or long-winded speeches.
“They are good—very!—excellent! Malchen!—Just eat a couple.”
But the mind of the forlorn Malchen was occupied with any thing but oysters; it was fixed upon things above, or at least overhead. “I do not think I can sit up all night,” she murmured, concluding with such a gape that the tears squeezed out plentifully between her fat little eyelids.
“I’ve found only one bad one—and that was full of black mud—schloo—oo—oo—ooop!”—slirropped honest Dietrich. N. B. There is no established formula of minims and crotchets on the gamut to represent the swallowing of an oyster: so the aforesaid syllables of “schloo—oo—oo—ooop,” must stand in their stead.
“As for sleeping in my clothes,” continued Madame Doppeldick, “the weather is so very warm,—and the little window won’t open—and with two in a bed—”
“The English do it, Malchen,—schloo—oo—ooop!”
“But the English beds have curtains,” said Madame Doppeldick, “thick stuff or canvas curtains, Dietrich,—all round, and over the top—just like a general’s tent.”
“We can go—schloo—ooop—to bed in the dark, Malchen.”
“No—no,” objected Madam Doppeldick, with a grave shake of her head. “We’ll have no blin............