The old man took up the weak little hand which he held in his broad paw and looked at it attentively.
"Poor child, poor child," he murmured. "As forsaken and blown about as a little bird that has fallen out of the nest:—and Theodor and his wife—and Kleophea—Oh, it's a shame! Poor little bird, poor little bird,—and I, old vagabond that I am, haven't even the most wretched corner to give it shelter."
He shook his head for a long time, growling and sighing; then he brought his hand down on the table:
"Let's be merry, Pastor. So you know that Moses Freudenstein who now, with eight hundred thousand other loafers, infests the Paris streets? That's a fine acquaintance and really suits you about as well as a howitzer suits dried peas."
"I should be very sorry if Moses, if it is really he, should really deserve your displeasure so much, Mr. Götz," answered Hans. "We grew up together, we were friends at school and at the university; and moreover he can scarcely have been six months in Paris. I hope it is a mistake; I hope so with all my heart!"
The lieutenant now asked Hans to describe the personality of poor, good Moses exactly, and at every detail that Hans mentioned he was unfortunately obliged to nod and look interrogatively at his niece.
"It's he. It's as sure as a gun. That's the rascal, isn't it, Fränzchen? I'll tell you the tale in a few words, to put an end to the matter. As my brother's death took place very suddenly my niece was left all alone for some time in that nest of Satan and I know what that means because I was there on a visit in 1814 and '15, but there were a good many others with me. Poor child, poor child! I know what it means to be left all alone in that turmoil—She's pulling my coat again, Pastor! Now please leave me alone, Fränzel; let me tell him."
"I'd rather you didn't, Uncle," whispered the young girl, "and you looked at the matter in a worse light than it was; that gentleman——"
"Was a scoundrel who had to be ground into a pulp;—no, don't pull me, Fränzel."
Franziska threw a beseeching glance at Hans Unwirrsch and he had seldom felt so uncomfortable on any seat, besides he did not now learn after all in what relation his friend had stood to the young lady and the old soldier. Although the uncertainty troubled him much and the doubt of his friend that had been aroused in him pierced his heart, he would not have increased the pale girl's grief by eager, prying questions, for anything in the world. Only one thing was clear to him: chance must have led the winsome Moses into the house in which Franziska had lived after her father's death, helpless, lonely and unprotected, and that his behavior could not have been of the most chivalrous kind. On one of the boulevards a violent scene had then taken place between Mr. Götz and Mr. Freudenstein, and the former had certainly brought home with him to the German fatherland a deeply rooted antipathy to poor Moses.