While engaged in conversation with the Count, he had not noticed that there had suddenly arisen an unwonted stir among the military men assembled at Büchner's. All eyes were turned towards an aged officer, who had just appeared beneath the awning. He was standing at the entrance, leaning on a stout bamboo cane, scanning the assemblage; his grave stern glance passed from table to table, apparently seeking some one whom he could not readily distinguish among the numbers of officers present.
"Gentlemen, does either of you know First Lieutenant von Bertram?" the old man asked of two young infantry officers, who were seated at a table playing dominoes.
Before either could reply, Paul Delmar, who had appeared beneath the awning simultaneously with the old man, answered, "Do you wish to speak to Herr von Bertram, colonel? Yonder he sits beneath the awning, but in the farthest comer. Count Waldheim is standing beside him."
"My old eyes are not worth much," growled the colonel. "Sir, I thank you. Your face is familiar to me, but just at present I cannot recall your name; my memory leaves me in the lurch. 'Tis the curse of old age; my senses fail me, and even my memory forsakes me."
"It is many years, colonel, since I had the honour of seeing you, and I may well be changed since then. I went to school with your son, and as his friend used to be continually at your house. My name is Paul Delmar."
"Ah, little Paul, son of the wealthy banker. It is indeed long since I saw you last. And you know Herr von Bertram?"
"I do, colonel."
"Then do me the favour to conduct me to him and introduce me. I have something to say to the gentleman, and I know him but slightly, or rather not at all. Will you oblige me?"
"Certainly, colonel; this way, if you please."
Delmar led the way, the colonel following slowly. Every step evidently caused the old man pain, but he mastered it and walked on, leaning heavily on his cane, and saluted respectfully on all sides by the younger officers, who looked after him with unfeigned sympathy.