"Did I not tell you that I did not wish to see any one else to-day? I wish to remain undisturbed."
"I told the gentleman so," replied the servant, "but he begged me to at least give you his name--Willibald von Eschenhagen."
Hartmut started suddenly from his reclining position. He could not believe that he had heard aright.
"What is the gentleman's name?"
"Von Eschenhagen--here is the card."
"Ah, let him enter, instantly!"
The servant departed, and Willibald entered the next moment, but remained standing at the door in uncertainty. Hartmut had sprung up and looked toward him. Yes, there were the same familiar features--the dear, well-known face, the honest blue eyes of his friend, and with the passionate cry, "Willy--my dear old Willy, is it you! You come to me?" he threw himself stormily upon his breast.
The young lord, who had no idea how strangely his appearance at this moment fitted into his friend's dreams of his youth, was most perplexed over this reception. He remembered how domineering Hartmut had always been to him, and how he had made him feel his mental inferiority at every opportunity. He had thought yesterday that the highly honored author of Arivana would be still more imperious and haughty, and now he found an overflowing tenderness.
"Are you glad, then, at my coming, Hartmut?" he asked, still somewhat doubtful. "I was almost afraid it would not be acceptable."
"Not acceptable, when I see you now after a lapse of ten long years!" cried Hartmut reproachfully, and he drew his friend down beside him, questioning him and covering him so with affection that Willy lost all embarrassment and also returned to the old familiarity. He said that he was in town for only three days and that he was on his way to Furstenstein.