CHAPTER XXVI
Looking up from her breakfast the morning after the fire to see who it was riding down the street, Frau Manske beheld Dellwig coming towards her garden gate. Her husband was in his dressing-gown and slippers, a costume he affected early in the day, and they were taking their coffee this fine weather at a table in their roomy porch. There was, therefore, no possibility of hiding the dressing-gown, nor yet the fact that her cap was not as fresh as a cap on which the great Dellwig's eyes were to rest, should be. She knew that Dellwig was not a star of the first magnitude like Herr von Lohm, but he was a very magnificent specimen of those of the second order, and she thought him much more imposing than Axel, whose quiet ways she had never understood. Dellwig snubbed her so systematically and so brutally that she could not but respect and admire him: she was one of those women who enjoy kissing the rod. In a great flutter she hurried to the gate to open it for him, receiving in return neither thanks nor greeting. "Good-morning, good-morning," she said, bowing repeatedly. "A fine morning, Herr Dellwig."
"Where's Klutz?" he asked curtly, neither getting off his horse nor taking off his hat.
"Oh, the poor young man, Herr Dellwig!" she began with uplifted hands. "He has had a letter from home, and is much upset. His father——"
"Where is he?"
"His father? In bed, and not expected to——"
"Where's Klutz, I say—young Klutz? Herr Manske, just step down here a minute—good-morning. I want to see your vicar."
"My vicar has had bad news from home, and is gone."
"Gone?"