"HAGGARD FACE AND EVIL EYES."
"Everything here is," I answered, as I rose and followed him downstairs.
He laughed.
"That is the disadvantage of being born a Siebach of Salitz—there is no merit in possessing perfection. It is merely inherited property. Don't knock your head against this doorway—it is low. That's right!"
We had passed under a low archway into a long room panelled with black oak. There was a table, littered with papers, near the window, and over the hearth hung the portrait of a young man whose countenance, particularly about the mouth, distinctly resembled that of Siebach.
"How like you that portrait is!" I exclaimed.
He looked at it for a moment as though weighing my remark carefully in his mind.
"Do you think so?" he said at last. "It is my poor cousin Franz."
"I didn't know you had one."