"You may well say so--forms!" mocked Hagenbach, with unconcealed irritation, "they are the main things in the world. What avails it if a man be honorable, upright, and true--he must yield to the first goose that comes along, who knows how to make bows and exchange polite speeches--he, of course, has the precedence!"
"I did not say so."
"But thought it! I have not given much attention to forms in the course of my life, have not found it needful either in my practice or the management of my household. I am a bachelor, though--thank God!"
The returned thanks, however, to Heaven, on account of his fortunately preserved bachelor's estate was in so grim a tone that Leonie preferred not to answer. She stepped to the window and looked out. Fortunately one of the maids now appeared with the coffee-cups and a huge cake, sufficient for at least ten persons, bringing the message that, if the ladies and doctor would be patient for a little while longer, Fräulein Willmann would prepare the coffee herself.
Leonie started at the name, and turned around eagerly:
"Who did you say?"
"Fräulein Willmann, lady."
"Such is the name of the hostess of the 'Golden Lamb,'" explained Hagenbach, who now perceived that silence would profit nothing any longer, and that the whole melancholy story would have to be recapitulated. Leonie, indeed, did not say a word, but the mantling color that mounted to her cheeks betrayed her exceeding sensitiveness to anything that reminded her of her former lover. The doctor preferred, therefore, to introduce the subject himself, as soon as the maid had left the room.
"Does the name strike you?" he asked.
"It was once very dear to me, and still is. The coincidence here can only be the result of accident, but I shall try to find out from the hostess----"