There an unexpected companion, Paul Lanzky by name, soon joined him. Lanzky was an "intellectual," by birth a German and by taste a Florentine, who lived a wandering life. Chance had put the works of Nietzsche into his hands; and he had understood them. Applying to Schmeitzner, the publisher, for the author's address, he was told--" Herr Friedrich Nietzsche lives a very lonely life in Italy. Write to Poste Restante, Genoa." The philosopher replied promptly and graciously, "Come to Nice this winter and we will talk!" So Nietzsche was not so unsociable and solitary after all! This correspondence took place during the autumn of 1883, but Lanzky was not free at the moment, and begged to be excused. In October, 1884, he reached the rendezvous. Meanwhile he had had the opportunity of acquainting himself with the two last sections of _Zarathustra,_ and had published very intelligent summaries of them in a Leipsic magazine and in the _Rivista Europea_ of Florence. On the very morning of his arrival in Nice there was a knock at his door. A gentle-looking man entered the room and came towards him smiling. "Also Sie sind gekommen!" said Nietzsche. "So here you are!" He took him by the arm, and examined curiously this student of his works. "Let's see what you are made of!" Nietzsche's eyes were fixed upon him; those eyes which had once been beautiful, and were, at moments, still beautiful, clouded though they now were by reason of prolonged suffering. Lanzky was astonished. He had come to do honour to a redoubtable prophet, and here was the most affable, the simplest, and, as it seemed to him, the most modest of German professors. As the two men went out together, Lanzky avowed his surprise--" Master," he began.... "You are the first to call me by that name," said Nietzsche with a smile. But he let the word pass, for he knew that he was a master. "Master," continued Lanzky, "what a mistaken idea of you one gathers from your books; tell me ..." "No, no, not to-day. You do not know Nice. I will do the honours, and show you this sea, these mountains, these walks.... Another day we shall talk, if you will." By the time they returned it was six o'clock in the evening, and Lanzky had discovered how tireless a walker was his prophet.