Daniel gave him his hand without saying a word.
Döderlein asked about Dorothea; and when Daniel told him where she was, he seemed quite contented. “Tell her my house and my arms are open to her; tell her of the change in the constellation,” he said softly. “We have both done each other injustice and have both repented.”
Daniel replied quite conventionally that he thought it better to leave Dorothea with Sylvia von Auffenberg.
“As you wish, my son,” said Andreas Döderlein, “I bow to the claims of your young happiness. Now we should have a bottle of Malvoisie or Moselle, so that I can drink to the health of my dear, unruly daughter. Or don’t you care to?”
Daniel went to send Philippina to the Golden Posthorn. But Philippina had gone out with Agnes. He saw one of the maids from one of the other apartments standing on the steps, and got her to run the errand. It was a long while before she returned, and when the wine was finally poured out, Döderlein had not time to drink: he was scheduled to give a lecture in the conservatory at seven. He drank about half of his glass, and then took hasty leave of Daniel, shaking his hand with unwonted fervour.
Daniel sat for a while thinking it all over. There was a knock at the door, and old Jordan came in. “May I?” he asked.
Daniel nodded. Jordan took a seat on the chair Döderlein had been sitting on. He looked into Daniel’s face quizzically. “Is it true, Daniel, that you are going to get married again? That you are going to marry the Döderlein girl?”
“Yes, Father, it is true,” replied Daniel. He got a fresh glass, filled it, and pushed it over to the old man. “Drink, Father!” he said.
The old man sipped the wine with an air of adoration. “It must be nine or ten years since I have had any wine,” he said more or less to himself.