"No, but of his son," Gersdorf said, in some surprise,--"a young physician, and a friend of Herr Elmhorst's."
"And the father?"
"Dead, more than twenty years ago."
Gronau's rugged features worked strangely, and he hastily passed his hand across his eyes:
"Ah, yes, I might have known it. When one inquires after twenty-five years he finds death has been busy among his friends and comrades. And so Benno Reinsfeld is gone! He was the best of us all, and the most talented. I suppose his inventive genius never brought him wealth?"
"Had he a gift that way?" asked Gersdorf. "I never heard of it, and it was never recognized, for he died a simple engineer. His son has had to make his own way in the world, and has become a very clever physician, as Herr Elmhorst will tell you."
"An extremely skilful physician," Elmhorst declared; "only too modest. He has no capacity for bringing himself and his talent into notice."
"Just like his father," said Gronau. "He always allowed himself to be thrust aside and made use of by any one who knew how to do so. God rest his soul! he was the kindest, most faithful comrade man ever had!"
Meanwhile, Waltenberg had joined Erna von Thurgau at the other end of the room. He had just shown her a rarely beautiful specimen of coral, and as he replaced it he said, "Have you been at all interested? I should be so glad if my 'treasures,' as you call them, could arouse more than a fleeting interest with you; I might then look for some indulgence in those grave eyes, in which I seem always to read reproach. Confess, Fräulein von Thurgau, that you cannot forgive the cosmopolite for becoming so entirely estranged from his home."
"At least I can now make excuses for him," said Erna, smiling. "This enchanted domain is fascinatingly bewildering; it is difficult, nay, almost impossible, to withstand its spell."