"Delmar?" the doctor muttered, seeming to heed nothing but the name in the young man's reply. "Your name is Delmar, then,--not Menotti?"
Delmar gazed at him in surprise; what made the man think of this name of Menotti? Paul remembered to have heard it, but he could not recall at the moment when or where; he only knew that he had heard the name lately of a Count Menotti, if he were not mistaken.
"Why do you mention the name of Menotti?" he asked, curiously.
"Then it is not your name?" the doctor repeated, without answering.
"No; as I told you, my name is Delmar,--Paul Delmar."
"Strange! The resemblance is most striking. But what am I thinking of? Young Count Menotti cannot be more than twenty years of age, and the younger brother is a cripple. But the resemblance! Rosy, what do you say to it?"
The doctor's wife said nothing, she only nodded her head, never turning her eyes away from Delmar. She scanned his features with eager scrutiny, as if to stamp them upon her memory.
For Paul the whole scene was extremely annoying, he especially disliked being stared at by this odious woman; he did not like charades, and to find himself a principal actor in one was very disagreeable. He asked rather sharply, "Who is this Count Menotti whom I so strangely resemble?"
"A very distinguished nobleman," the doctor replied, continuing to regard Delmar with curiosity, although he had regained his indolent calm of manner, out of which it needed some special occurrence to startle him. "You need not be ashamed of the resemblance, Herr Delmar, Count Menotti was a very handsome man."
"Was a handsome man? Is he no longer living, then?"