In the street, seeing Count Waldheim in the distance, and wishing to avoid all discussion of his affairs with any one for the present, he turned in an opposite direction, called a fiacre, and was driven rapidly to a retired and extremely handsome villa in the suburbs. Here a footman in rich livery instantly appeared, opened the carriage-door, and evidently had been taught to regard Leo as an honoured guest. "Is Herr Delmar at home?" "To you, Herr Lieutenant, but to no one else. My master is at dinner, but he has given orders that you are to be admitted at all hours. I will announce you immediately." "No need, I will announce myself." "As you please, Herr Lieutenant; my master dines in the garden-room." Leo nodded in answer to the man's low bow, and then hurriedly passed through the hall and several antechambers on his way to the familiar garden-room. He paid no heed to the more than princely luxury of the surroundings, scarcely even glancing at the splendid pictures with which the walls were hung, but hurried on. Surrounded by rare tropical plants, in a room the walls of which were almost entirely of glass, but kept perfectly cool by the constant play of a fountain, a table was spread, at which sat Herr Paul Delmar, with a liveried servant behind his chair. The lord of this magnificent villa, of several other princely estates, and of a capital of several millions, was a young man thirty years old at most,--not strictly handsome, but of an interesting, cheerful countenance, in which sparkled a pair of brilliant black eyes. The nose was too large and the skin too sallow for beauty, otherwise the features were admirable, and the whole bearing and air of the man extremely attractive, especially when the face was lit up by the frequent half-kindly, half-ironical smile. "Is that you, Leo?" he cried to the new-comer. "A rare guest, indeed; sit down. A place for Herr von Heydeck," he gave orders to the servant. "No, no, Paul, I cannot; thanks," Leo replied. "Have you dined?" "No, but----" "Then I'll take no excuse. Not on your account, Leo; you know how selfish I am,--my own comfort is my chief care. Nothing would taste as it should with you sitting there fasting and hungry." "But I'm not hungry; I assure you I have not the least appetite." "But I have, and you shall not spoil it by sitting there eating nothing and watching me. There is nothing in this world of more importance than a good dinner; I pity any man who does not know how to appreciate so refined an enjoyment. A bad dinner is the greatest of losses: it can never be repaired,--it has gone forever! He only who knows how to eat appreciates the full value of life. Here is your plate, Leo,--my Jean is an active fellow,--and now take your soup; season it as you like it, and, for heaven's sake, look like a reasonable being. Such a long face as yours is as bad for the soup as if the cook had over-salted it."