They made their bow and sidled out. The green table had emptied fast, and only the uncle and his two guests still sat on at the upper end. The brewer pretended to busy himself with his cask in the window-seat. Leo signed to him, laughing. "Am I going to get a glass of beer to welcome me at last, Sigilhöfer?" "If you like, sir," the Bavarian stammered forth in awed delight, and held a tankard under the tap with a trembling hand. Leo drank, and wiped his moustache. "Not bad, Sigilhof," he said in praise, offering his hand. "That's the first real greeting I have had since I set foot in my home." The brewer went to the door, beaming with happiness and satisfaction at having got off so easily. Uncle Kutowski and the Candidate drew closer together, convulsed by every gradation of fury, while the painter stared vacantly on the ground, lost in lugubrious thought. Suddenly the Candidate started up, took three steps towards Leo, bowed and smiled affectedly, and drawled through his nose-- "I beg pardon, but I must ask you to give me satisfaction." Leo put his hands in his pockets, and from his six feet of height eyed from head to foot the anæmic youth, who was endeavouring in vain to assume an air of dignified disdain. Then he laughed and said-- "So you are the son of dear old papa Brenckenberg?" "My father is Pastor Brenckenberg of Wengern," snarled the pugnacious young man. "But that has nothing to do with it." "And how is the dear old papa?" "I have asked you to give me satisfaction, sir." "Remember me to your father. Congratulate him from me on having reared so promising and sober a sprig for a son." "What do you mean? Remember, sir, that I am a corps student." "Then I am afraid, young man, that you'll have to put your nose to the grindstone," answered Leo, "before you become anything better." The Candidate gave a swaggering bow. "There is nothing to detain me here longer," he said. "Have you only now discovered that?" Leo asked, turning his back on him. "But wait a moment! One thing more you may tell your good old papa, and that is, I should advise him to put a stop to his gentlemanly son loafing about in Halewitz Park when other people are in bed, with the object of singing pretty songs there, otherwise it is quite possible that the said young gentleman may be brought home to him the next morning suffering from dog-bites." Young Brenckenberg gave him a look of supreme contempt, and, fuming like a turkey-cock, strutted to the door. "One after the other," thought Leo, and turned to the painter. When it dawned on him that it was now his turn to be dealt with, he jumped up and fell on the bosom of the returned squire, weeping hysterically.