Felix Merckel quickly regained his composure.
"Ah! the Herr Baron!" he exclaimed, with a profound bow. "Now I am not surprised that Prussia's----"
The click of the double trigger of the cavalry pistol made him stop short again.
"I warn you once more, Felix Merckel. I am an officer as well as yourself."
And the reiterated warning had its effect.
"Certainly, it is not my concern," Felix said, and with another low bow, went back to his place; this time the clatter of his spurs was scarcely audible.
The Schrandeners put their heads together and whispered, and then old Merckel entered the room. His round, sleek, clean-shaven face beamed with prosperity and self-satisfaction. As beseemed the village patriarch, he passed by the common drinking-table with a dignified gait. A heavy silver watch-chain hung on his greasy satin waistcoat, suspended from a gold keeper in the form of a Moor's head, to which was also attached an amber heart.
"The Herr wished to speak to me?" he asked, with a profound obeisance, which, however, he seemed to repent, when his little grey lynx eyes remarked that the stranger had no glass before him. To be obsequious to a non-drinker was a waste of time.
The Schrandeners kept their ears open. Felix had jumped up as if to seize this favourable opportunity of going for his whilom friend with his fists.
"I say, father, it's the young Herr Baron," he exclaimed, with a discordant laugh.