The doctor's wife was still an imposing woman; indeed, her well-preserved features would have been beautiful if they had not been disfigured by her girlish cap with pink ribbons, and quantities of pearl-powder and rouge. The old woman's efforts to look young destroyed the charm that her regular features might else have possessed.
Her youthful dress, fluttering all over with ribbons and fringes and lace, bore testimony to a craving for admiration, all the more ridiculous because, in the retired village where she lived, there was not probably a man, woman, or child who was not perfectly aware that she had long passed fifty.
In striking contrast to the extreme elegance of his wife's appearance Dr. Putzer's dress displayed no care whatever. The white summer coat that covered his broad shoulders was rumpled and dirty; two buttons were gone from the front, and it hung loosely about his huge figure. His still abundant coarse sandy hair was in wild disorder, and the spectator was led to suspect that the doctor did not often come in contact with soap and water.
Dr. Putzer was not handsome, although one could see that he might once have been a personable man. His fat, flabby face had the purple hue of an habitual drinker; his light-gray eyes were dull and watery, and his figure, which must formerly have been good, was marred by corpulence.
Paul took in this worthy couple at a glance; he did not need to scan them long to come to a conclusion with regard to them. Their distinguishing characteristics were patent to view,--the ridiculous vanity of the woman and the man's indolence and love of eating and drinking.
For one moment Paul hesitated. Could he confide his friend to this drunkard's surgical skill? On the table beside the man was a half-empty bottle of wine; he had evidently been partaking freely. But Delmar called to mind that the postmaster, in his story, had laid great emphasis upon the fact that the doctor, in spite of his dissipation and general worthlessness, was a skilful physician,--the best in all the country round,--and this reflection confirmed his resolve. "Have I the pleasure of seeing Herr Doctor Putzer?" he asked courteously, lifting his hat.
The doctor's wife looked up at this unexpected address, and at sight of Paul uttered a slight scream of surprise; the embroidery dropped from her hand, and she stared at the stranger with wide-open eyes. If her cheeks had not been plastered with white and red paint, Paul, who noticed her startled look, would have seen her become ghastly pale.
The doctor, too, seemed strangely startled by Paul's appearance. Upon first hearing himself addressed he turned his head heavily and clumsily, but with one glance at his visitor he started to his feet with a celerity that was almost comical in so corpulent a personage. He ran his hands through his dishevelled bushy hair, and his little gray eyes were riveted upon Paul's face. "Holy Apostles!" he cried, in terror. "Who are you, sir? What do you want of me?"
Here was another strange reception, precisely similar to that accorded to Delmar by old Herr von Heydeck. Was Tausens then so secluded from the world that the appearance of an ordinary stranger brought with it terror and dismay? Just as the doctor and his wife were now doing had Herr von Heydeck stared Paul in the face.
Paul could conceive no reason for the extraordinary manner in which he was received in Tausens: he would have liked to make some inquiries with regard to it; but all that he wanted at present was to procure medical aid for Kuno as quickly as possible, and he therefore answered, "My name, which can possess but little interest for you, is Delmar. I come to request your services for a friend who has injured his foot among the mountains; will you have the kindness to return with me to the inn, where he is in great need of your skill?"