The tall man winced. He looked for a moment as if the cabinet-maker had taunted him—knowing. Then he straightened his shoulders. His face hardened into lines of steadfastness and determination. Taking up his parcel—
"Thank you," he said, with a deeper intonation than one would have expected in return for so slight a deed—"thank you," he said to Joseph Schotz, and wrung his hand with a grasp that hurt. Then he hurried out.
When they had watched the great figure out of sight—
"Who is he—that tall man? Do you know, my wife?" asked Joseph Schotz, in their own tongue.
"Some American," replied his wife, with democratic unconcern. Then when her husband continued to gaze earnestly at the door from which their guest had departed, "A sad-looking man, I think."
"Yes, he is one that carries with him the sorrows of the world. When he came into the world he had already known what it was to sorrow. Men like that must learn to laugh or they cannot live."
"What does it matter?" she said, rallying him. "He is not thy Napoleon."
"No, he is not Napoleon," replied the man, quickly, looking down at his hand, still red from the pressure of the bony fingers. "No—Napoleon never played—with toys."