He stretched his legs on the settle, twisting his cavalry moustache with a bland smile. The old man let fall, in horrified dismay, a handful of silver that he was counting, and the coins rolled away into the cracks of the floor.
"Felixchen," he said, "you really mustn't drink so much of that Wacholder brandy. It's good enough for customers, but you, Felixchen, shall have a bottle of light wine to-morrow, and perhaps some of them will follow your example, and so it won't cost me anything."
"Father, you are mistaken," Felix answered. "It's my outraged sense of honour that gives me no peace. I am a German lad, father, and a brave officer. I can't stand the stain on my calling any longer."
"Felixchen," said the old man, "go to bed, my son, and you'll get over it."
"Father," replied his son, "I am sorry to have to say it, but you have no conception of what honour is."
"Felixchen," went on the old man, ignoring the taunt, "you haven't enough occupation. If you would only look after the bottles--of course the barmaid is there for the purpose--but it would do you good. It would distract your thoughts. Or you might go out shooting sometimes."
"Where?"
"Lord bless my soul! there are the woods and forest of Schranden. Whether the hares devour each other, or you annex your share of them, is all the same."
"That won't do for me, father. I am an officer, and don't wish to be caught poaching."
"Good gracious, Felixchen, how you talk! Do you forget that I am magistrate here. I am not likely to sentence you to the gallows. But do as you like, my boy. Of course you might go oftener to the parsonage. The old pastor enjoys a game of chess; there's nothing to be gained by chess, I know, but some people seem to like it, and then there's--Helene."