He approached the Jew with open countenance, wearing a chastened and subdued expression, and extended his hand as to a brother officer.  Daniels accepted it, struck by the unexpected mien, although he could not, in his astonishment and inveterate prudence, return the pressure.  The major spoke an apology for his outrageous conduct, in a faltering voice and with moist eyes, spacing the apparently unstudied phrases with a cough as if to master tearfulness unbecoming even an invalid soldier.  He laid the blame on the surpassing charms of the songstress who had enflamed him beyond his self-control and, partly, on the infernal French wine in which he had imprudently over-indulged at the evening’s garrison officer’s dinner.  Had he but patriotically stuck to the beer!  But that was not worth lamenting now.  He tendered his regrets to the father of the young lady and promised to use his poor influence—­here he smiled at the disparagement as if he knew his power and that his hearer was sure of it—­for her professional advancement as long as she rejoiced Munich with her beauty and accomplishments.

The night in the dead-house, on the very brink of the deathpit, had transformed him, he freely acknowledged.  He hardly recognized his own voice in communicating the sentiments that carried him into new directions, so strange was it all, but he was eager to show by deeds that his conversion was great and sincere.  He had engaged his protection for the distinguished turkophone-player and his unparalleled daughter, but he felt that was enough.

“Ample,” said Daniels, at last able to speak a word on the torrent of glib language momentarily pausing; “but we are going away to fulfill an engagement in Paris.”

“One moment,” said the major, politely lifting his hand from which he kept the buckskin gauntlet as if he meant again to shake hands with the Ishmael at their farewell.  “Perhaps I cannot, then, be of service to you, but there is another to whom my assistance is of other value—­nay, of the highest consequence.  I am not referring to the young lady—­whom Munich will be so sorry to part with and whom I do not expect to see again even to accept my excuses—­but the student from the Polish University who deservedly corrected me and brought me to my sober senses—­although, perhaps, he had a heavy hand.”  He spoke with an assumption of manly regret, which enchanted the hearer and completed his revocation of the bad opinion of the rough suitor of his daughter.  Still the Jew had not laid aside all his habitual caution and he did not by word or movement betray that he had an acquaintance with his champion.