Yet, though she racked her brains, she could not recall where she had seen him before.
With quick decision she began to follow him. He wore a brown hat, a pepper-and-salt suit with a yellowish tinge, which had known better days. His coat-collar was shiny, and his trousers were very baggy at the knees. They hung over his down-at-heel boots in fringes, as if someone had tried to mend them, and left black uneven ends of cotton.
No, this could not be one of her friends even in disguise. Her friends would never own to such trousers. He paused once or twice to look in at the shop-windows. First, he looked in at a cigar-shop, then at a butcher's; but he lingered longest before a hosier's, from which Lilly concluded that his shirts also were in need of renewal.
When he thus gave her a view of his profile, she saw in the reflection of the rows of lights a haggard, bony face, with prominent nose, and a tuft of reddish-brown hair on either side of his chin. He seemed to be dried up and needy, rather than actually ill. The lids of his small, narrow eyes were swollen and inflamed, and before coming within the radius of shop-window lights, he clapped a pair of dark-blue goggles on his nose to protect them.
He had a cane in his hand, which as he walked he pressed into a bow against the kerb, letting it rebound again. The silver knob of this cane, which matched ill with the shabbiness of his attire, somehow awoke recollections of a frosty morning, hot rolls, and church bells.
She gave an exclamation, for she remembered now. Fritz Redlich it was--Fritz Redlich! Yes, it was; it was!
There could be no further doubt. Her first love, her first lover ... her brave young champion in life's battle. Hers and St. Joseph's protégé!
Oh dear, yes, St. Joseph! And then the revolver! And the potato soup with sliced sausage! Oh!... and "The graves at Ottensen"!
"Herr Redlich! Herr Redlich!"
Trembling and laughing she stood behind him, holding out her two hands to the young man, who shrank back nervously.