"Do you know, my dear Meding," he said after a pause, "how long I have waited already, during the course of my life?" and he raised himself a little and looked inquiringly at his friend.
Meding by slightly shrugging his shoulders implied that it was impossible to reply to the question.
"Eight years, seven months, three weeks, and four days!" cried the general in a loud voice, and with great disgust.
Meding could not help laughing aloud.
"Your excellency has certainly suffered to the utmost, and your patience has stood the proof!"
"I have a book," said the general dismally, with a sort of grim humour, "in which I have written down every day since I first received my commission from my late lamented master, the length of time I have passed in this waiting room. It now amounts to eight years, seven months, three weeks, and four days. What do you say to that? They say," he continued, "that I am sixty-eight years old. It is not true; I have lived but fifty-nine years, five months, one week, and three days. The rest of the time I have waited!"
And the general threw himself back in the arm-chair with a look of resignation.
"I must say, your excellency," said Meding, "it would never have occurred to me to make a statement of the hours fruitlessly passed in the ante-chamber. I should prefer for them to remain uncertain, and to allow the dark moments passed in this salle des pas perdus, to fall into oblivion."
"You are still young, and inclined to dawdle away your time," replied the general, "but I----"
"Your excellency's time is much more valuable than mine," said Meding, politely.