"Where," asked Annalise, "shall I find the cook?"
"Where shall you find the cook?" repeated Fritzing, staring still
harder. "This house is so gigantic is it not," he said with an
enormous sarcasm, "that no doubt the cook has lost himself. Have you
perhaps omitted to investigate the coal-hole?"
"Herr Geheimrath, where shall I find the cook?" asked Annalise tossing
her head.
"Fraeulein, is there a mirror in your bedroom?"
"The smallest I ever saw. Only one-half of my face can I see reflected
in it at a time."
"Fraeulein, the half of that face you see reflected in it is the half
of the face of the cook."
"I do not understand," said Annalise.
"Yet it is as clear as shining after rain. You, _mein liebes Kind_,
are the cook."
It was now Annalise's turn to stare, and she stood for a moment doing
it, her face changing from white to red while Fritzing turned his back
and taking out a pencil made little sums on the margin of the bill.
"Herr Geheimrath, I am not a cook," she said at last, swallowing her
indignation.
"What, still there?" he exclaimed, looking up sharply.
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