For the last year or two the name of Rudolph von Blitzenberg had appeared in the members' list of that most exclusive of institutions, the Regent's Club, Pall Mall; and it was thither he drove on this fine afternoon of July. At no resort in London were more famous personages to be found, diplomatic and otherwise, and nothing would have been more natural than a meeting between the Baron and a European celebrity beneath its roof; so that if you had seen him bounding impetuously up the steps, and noted the eagerness with which he inquired whether a gentleman had called for him, you would have had considerable excuse for supposing his appointment to be with a dignitary of the highest importance.
"Goot!" he cried on learning that a stranger was indeed waiting for him. His face beamed with anticipatory joy. Aha! he was not to be disappointed.
"Vill he be jost the same?" he wondered. "Ah, if he is changed I shall veep!"
He rushed into the smoking-room, and there, instead of any bald notability or spectacled statesman, there advanced to meet him a merely private English gentleman, tolerably young, undeniably good-looking, and graced with the most debonair of smiles.
"My dear Bonker!" cried the Baron, crimsoning with joy. "Ach, how pleased I am!"
"Baron!" replied his visitor gaily. "You cannot deceive me--that waistcoat was made in Germany! Let me lead you to a respectable tailor!"
Yet, despite his bantering tone, it was easy to see that he took an equal pleasure in the meeting.
"Ha, ha!" laughed the Baron, "vot a fonny zing to say! Droll as ever, eh?"
"Five years less droll than when we first. met," said the late Bunker and present Essington. "You meet a dullish dog, Baron--a sobered reveller."
"Ach, no! Not surely? Do not disappoint me, dear Bonker!"
The Baron's plaintive note seemed to amuse his friend.
"You don't mean to say you actually wish a boon companion? You, Baron, the modern Talleyrand, the repository of three emperors' secrets? My dear fellow, I nearly came in deep mourning."
"Mourning! For vat?"
"For our lamented past: I supposed you would have the air of a Nonconformist beadle."
"My friend!" said the Baron eagerly, and yet with a lowering of his voice, "I vould not like to engage a beadle mit jost ze same feelings as me. Come here to zis corner and let us talk! Vaiter! whisky--soda--cigars--all for two. Come, Bonker!"
Stretched in arm-chairs, in a quiet corner of the room, the two surveyed one another with affectionate and humorous interest. For three years they had not seen one another at all, and save once they had not met for five. In five years a man may change his religion or lose his hair, inherit a principality or part with a reputation, grow a beard or turn teetotaler. Nothing so fundamental had happened to either of our friends. The Baron's fullness of contour we have already noticed; in Mandell-Essington, EX Bunker, was to be seen even less evidence of the march of time. But years, like wheels upon a road, can hardly pass without leaving in their wake some faint impress, however fair the weather, and perhaps his hair lay a fraction of an inch higher up the temple, and in the corners of his eyes a hint might even be discerned of those little wrinkles that register the smiles and frowns.
Otherwise he was the same distinguished-looking, immaculately dressed, supremely self-possessed, and charming Francis Bunker, whom the Baron's memory stored among its choicer possessions.
"Tell me," demanded the Baron, "vat you are doing mit yourself, mine Bonker."
"Doing?" said Essington, lighting his cigar.
"Well, my dear Baron, I am endeavoring to live as I imagine a gentleman should."
"And how is zat?"
"Riding a little, shooting a little, and occasionally telling the truth. At other times I cock a wise eye at my modest patrimony, now and then I deliver a lecture with magic-lantern slides; and when I come up to town I sometimes watch cricket-matches. A devilish invigorating programme, isn't it?"
"Ha, ha!" laughed the Baron again; he had come prepared to laugh, and carried out his intention religiously. "But you do not feel more old and sober, eh?"
"I don't want to, but no man can avoid his destiny.
The natives of this island are a serious people, or if they are frivolous, it is generally a trifle vulgarly done. The diversions of the professedly gay-hooting over pointless badinage and speculating whose turn it is to get divorced next--become in time even more sobering than a scientific study with diagrams of how to breed pheasants or play golf. If some one would teach us the ****** art of being light-hearted he would deserve to be placed along with Nelson on his monument."
"Oh, my dear vellow!" cried the Baron. "Do I hear zese kind of vords from you?"
"If you starved a city-full of people, wouldn't you expect to hear the man with the biggest appetite cry loudest?"
The Baron's face fell further and Essington laughed aloud.
"Come, Baron, hang it! You of all people should be delighted to see me a fellow-member of respectable society. I take you to be the type of the conventional aristocrat. Why, a fellow who's been travelling in Germany said to me lately, when I asked about you--'Von Blitzenberg,' said he, 'he's used as a simile for traditional dignity. His very dogs have to sit up on their hind-legs when he inspects the kennels!' "
The Baron with a solemn face gulped down his whisky-and-soda.
"Zat is not true about my dogs," he replied, "but I do confess my life is vary dignified. So moch is expected of a Blitzenberg. Oh, ja, zere is moch state and ceremony."
