The other did not press him further, and so with a few words they took leave of one another.
Winkler called a fly; it was nearly three o'clock when he at last reached the hotel in which he had taken rooms for the time being.
"Have any letters come for me?" he inquired. He had had no news from home for three days; he had telegraphed to his parents that he would be in Berlin to-day, and he hoped to receive a warm letter of greeting from them.
The porter looked through the letters.
"Nothing has come for you, sir."
Winkler could scarcely conceal his disappointment. Just to-day when he felt so terribly solitary and alone a kindly letter from his parents would have been so very welcome. He had been quite prepared for not being warmly welcomed by his new regiment, but he had not had the faintest idea that the officers would have received him with such coldness and such aversion.
"The key is in the room upstairs, sir."
With a troubled air he went upstairs. To his astonishment the door of the sitting-room was not locked, and when he opened it and walked into the rooms he was greeted with a loud, hearty laugh.
"Ha! ha! George, my boy, here's a surprise for you, isn't it? I told the porter I'd wring his neck if he told you of my arrival; for two hours I've been sitting here and waiting for you. Now, thank heaven, you're here at last. And how fine you look, my boy, your mother would burst with pride if she could see you now. Of course, the first thing you'll do is to go and be photographed."