He forced himself to take two or three spoonfuls of soup, and hastily emptied a glass of old Rhine-wine. His man-servant, Franz, likewise a faithful old soul, replenished it, but hesitatingly and with averted countenance.
"Where is Fräulein Brigitta?" asked Sendlingen.
"Crying!" growled the old man. "Hasn't got used to the new state of things! Nor have I! Nice conduct, my lord! We arrive in the morning ill, we say nothing to an old and faithful servant, we go straight into the Courts. There we fall down several times; we send for no doctor, but writhe alone in pain like a wounded stag." The faithful old fellow's eyes were wet.
"I am quite well again, Franz," said Sendlingen re-assuringly.
"We were groaning!" said the old man in a tone of the bitterest reproach. "And since when have we declined to admit Herr Berger?"
"Has he been here?"
"Yes, on most important business, and would not believe that we ourselves had ordered him to be turned away.... And now we are eating nothing," he continued vehemently, as Sendlingen pushed his plate from him and rose. "My Lord, what does this mean! We look as if we had seen a ghost!"
"No, only an old grumbler!" He intended this for an airy pleasantry but its success was poor. "Do not be too angry with me."
Then he returned to his chambers. "The old fellow is right," he thought. "It was a ghost, a very ancient ghost, and its name is Nemesis!" His eyes fell on the large calendar on the door: "7th November 1852" he read aloud. "A day like every other--and yet ..."
Then he passed his hand over his brow as if trying to recall who he was, and rang the bell.