The pastor had remained standing at the door, tugging violently at the woollen scarf which in the heat of the room nearly suffocated him.
"Take it off, take it off, old man," said Leo.
He did as he was commanded, stroked back the oiled strands of hair on his neck, and, with his mouth open, breathed heavily like an animal wanting to sneeze.
"I am glad to see you so well satisfied with yourself, my son," he said at last. "Just as if you had performed some heroic action."
"Of course," Leo answered; "to me heroic actions come naturally." And he poured him out a glass.
"Your health, old man."
The pastor stole a timid glance at the sparkling wine. "Do you know why I have come here at this hour, when most people are in their beds?" he asked sourly, leaning against the door.
"To your health! Didn't you hear me?" cried Leo.
Whereat the pastor staggered towards the table, and raised the glass with two trembling hands. But he put it down again.
"I can't," he groaned, and protruded his lower jaw, half sobbing with disgust.