petitioner did not have to go round by way of a written application, with the dismal prospect of his petition disappearing for ever into a pigeon-hole, but had the happy assurance that his application would go straight to the most exalted quarters. It must be admitted that the most exalted quarters—Klaus Heinrich at this time—naturally were not in a position to go into the matter, to scrutinize it seriously and to come to a decision upon it, but that they handed the matter on to the pigeon-holes, in which it "disappeared." But the custom was none the less helpful, though not in the sense of matter-of-fact utility. The citizen, the petitioner, came to Herr von Bühl with the request to be received, and a day and hour were fixed for him. With glad embarrassment he saw the day draw near, worked up in his own mind the sentences in which he intended to explain his business, had his frock-coat and his hat ironed, put on his best shirt, and generally made himself ready.
But in reality these solemn interviews were well calculated to turn the petitioner's thoughts away from the gross material end in view, and to make the reception itself seem to him the main point, the essential object of his excited anticipation. The hour came, and the citizen took, what he never otherwise took, a cab, in order not to dirty his clean boots. He drove between the lions at the Albrechtstor, and the sentries as well as the stalwart doorkeeper gave him free passage. He landed in the courtyard at the colonnade in front of the weatherbeaten entrance, and was at once admitted by a lackey in a brown coat and sand-coloured gaiters to an ante-room on the ground floor to the left, in one corner of which was a stand of colours, and where a number of other supplicants, talking in low whispers, waited in a state of thoughtful tension for their reception. The aide-de-camp, holding a list of those with appointments, went backwards and forwards
