"Why, see there! my old friend!" replied Berger, letting go Oldenburg's arm, and offering his hand to the new-comer. "How did you get here?"
"Alas!" said the man, "that is a sad story. If you will come with me a little way--I would rather speak to you alone."
"Excuse me a moment," said Berger to Oldenburg, and went aside with the man.
Oldenburg looked at the latter not without astonishment. His was a powerful body, with a broad, well-developed chest and long arms, while the head appeared not less massive. In the coarse, bloated features one might read, by the side of much good-nature, and jovial humor also, not a little cunning, but of a perfectly harmless nature. To judge by his appearance the man was not exactly well-to-do. His gray felt hat had evidently seen many a stormy day before it had been reduced to its forlorn condition. The black velvet coat, very shabby and covered with rusty-looking frogs, had evidently seen better days; so also the large linen trousers, the color of which was not easily distinguished, and the boots, which began to burst in a threatening manner. A red-silk handkerchief, boldly twisted around the sunburnt, muscular neck, completed the expression of reduced artistic merit which the whole person bore in all its features.
Berger spoke a few minutes earnestly with the man; then they went a little further aside, and Oldenburg's sharp eye saw how Berger pulled out his purse and pressed a few pieces of money in the hands of the stranger. Then they separated; the man disappeared in the crowd, the professor came back.
"Who was that strange person?"
"A man of whom I have often spoken to you: Director Caspar Schmenckel, of Vienna."
"Ah!" exclaimed Oldenburg; "why did you not tell me so at once. I should like to make the acquaintance of a man with whom Czika has lived so long."
"He will call upon us in a few days. The poor man is in despair since Xenobia and Czika have left him; he has met with nothing but misfortune. First, his clown died; then his first artist ran away; and the others he has been compelled to dismiss on account of chronic want of money. Now he lounges about in all the inns of the city, and gives performances on his own account."
"We must take care of him," said Oldenburg. "He has treated Czika well, and I am under obligations to him. Besides, he seems to be a good fellow. But let us go home. The thing here comes to nothing, as I expected, at least for to-day."