A week later, at eight o'clock in the morning, I set out.
As usual I came on board at the last minute, and we had already reached the Albert Bridge when, after getting rid of my luggage, I began to look round. The town showed its characteristic profile; the beautiful towers over Brühls Terrace stood out well against the clear sky, while overhead it was misty, and in front of us rather dark. The air was chilly, so I unfastened my travelling plaid. As we steamed past the three castles the town could scarcely be seen, and on reaching Loschwitz, rain began to fall. That is to say, it did not exactly rain, but …
"Well, it is just drizzling a bit," said a stout "Dräsener" to his better half, who put her head out of the cabin door with an inquiring look.
When we stopped nearly opposite, at Blasewitz, the newcomers at once went down into the saloon, and the ladies disappeared from the soaked deck. The men also soon left, one after another. The dismal truth could not be hidden any longer—it was pouring!
I lit a cigar and went to the smoking-saloon, which was filled with people and fumes of tobacco. The weather was the only topic of conversation. A long-haired professor, who was taking his Frühschoppen, held forth, saying, that when, after such heat, rain began to fall at this period of the year, it would not be fine again until September. All this time the rain was pattering on the
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