He bounded up and clasped the espalier with both hands. A sudden impulse seized him to rush out of his hiding-place and hug the dear old mother to his breast. But again he controlled himself. Before he returned to his own he must first surprise the curious company at the bailiff's house, and take them red-handed in their crimes. The shimmering light which had made the chipped heads of the nymphs glow vanished. The terrace steps were lost in darkness, and the wooden outer door creaked on its hinges. Then all was still. The coast was clear for Leo. He opened the wicket-gate which connected the park with the courtyard, and went by a familiar path in the direction from which the noises, becoming more and more tipsy and indistinct, echoed over the sleeping square of yard. Not a single dog barked, all apparently being too well accustomed to the manners of this particular household. The windows of the bailiff's room were open. In the lamplight clouds of tobacco-smoke could be seen issuing through the chinks of the venetian blinds. Leo leaned against the window-ledge so that he could look in on the topers at his ease. The company lounged comfortably at the long green table, which was usually loaded with official papers concerning police-regulations, rents, and rates. Master Kutowski presided. With his bristly head cropped nearly bald, his long waving beard abundantly powdered with snuff, and shading from silvery white to yellowish-green, with his light glassy, moist little eyes, his red-lumpy and wart-covered nose, he presented a perfect picture of the convivial, sturdy, boon companion, yet one who, if brought to book, might pose easily as a sober worthy rather than a consummate rascal. He had pushed his Hungarian fez at a rakish angle over his left ear, and held a silver-set meerschaum between his black teeth. Leo recognized it. It bore the inscription, "In thanks for faithful friendship, from Leo Sellenthin, _stud-agri_." On either side of him two guests had taken their places who were not resident on the Halewitz estates; on the left, an old animal-painter who for years had hung about the neighbourhood in summer, sponging on the hospitality of the bailiffs. He was nick-named "Cow-Augustus." On the right was a youth whom Leo seemed to know, but could not put a name to. His good-looking, smooth, but somewhat sallow face, cut about with diagonal scars like a rink with the marks of skaters, stood out with a cool, rather assumed air of distinction from the row of flushed, sunburnt, rustic countenances, from which type even the painter's, with its full stubbly beard, scarcely differed. The youth was apparently at the moment the only person sober at the table, and undoubtedly he was the only one who had cultivated the art of beer-drinking seriously and artistically, as if it had been his calling in life.