"Adieu!" said Tinkeles; "and now, when we meet again, we are good friends." He lifted the latch. "If you want to know the name of the man who can make Von Rothsattel as small as the grass in the streets which every one treads upon, inquire for Hirsch Ehrenthal's book-keeper, of the name of Itzig. Veitel Itzig is the name." With these words he made his exit so rapidly that, although Anton tried, he could not overtake him.
He determined at once to inform the baron's son of what he had heard, though he feared that it would occasion his tender nature great distress. "But it must be done this very evening," thought he. "I will go early, or remain till the others have left."
Fate, however, did not favor this intention. Early as Anton went, he found five or six young cavalry officers already arrived at young Rothsattel's rooms before him. Eugene lay in his dressing-gown on the sofa, the squadron encamping round him. The doctor succeeded Anton. "How are you?" said he to the patient.
"Well enough," replied Eugene. "I don't want your powders."
"A little fever," continued the doctor. "Pulse full, and so on. It is too hot here. I propose that we open the window."
"By Jove, doctor, you shall do no such thing," cried a young gentleman, who had made himself a sort of couch of two chairs; "you know that I can't stand a draught except when on duty."
"Leave it alone," cried Eugene; "we are homœopathists here; we will drive out heat by heat. What shall we drink?"
"A mild punch would be best for the patient," said the doctor.
"Bring the pine-apple, my good Anton; it is somewhere there, with the rest of the apparatus."
"Ha!" cried the doctor, as Anton produced the fruit, and the servant came in with a basket of wine; "a sweet Colossus, a remarkable specimen indeed! With your leave, I'll make the punch. The proportions must have some reference to the state of the patient."