He waved his liqueur-glass and emptied it at one gulp....
“Old times do not return,” said Bruning; “neither the times of Napoleon, nor those of the Sun-King, nor those of the Medici. But whoever delights in unscrupulousness and lack of consideration has no need to mourn over the present: attacking and oppressing, in order to attain power or to preserve it, is still in sway, even though in a different manner, and will probably always continue, for the emblems of worldly success remain claws and teeth—or at least elbows.”
A hotel valet came in and handed Bruning a card.
“Ah, my friend Helmer,” said he, rising. “Allow me, ladies and gentlemen, to leave you; I must receive him.”
“Is that the poet—the author of ‘Schwingen’?” asked Countess Vera. “Please ask him to come here; we should all be so pleased to meet him.”
“If you permit it”; and, turning to the servant: “Show the gentleman in.”
Bruning went to meet Helmer at the door: “’Twas good of you to look me up. You find me in a little company who are eager to make your acquaintance. Allow me to present you: my fellow-countryman and schoolmate, the boldest aviator of the present....”
Helmer shook his head: “I have never been in an airship in my life.”
“But you fly up into the bluest heights on the wings of your verse.”
“Indeed; I had always heard only of verse-feet.”