Obenreizer’s voice had barely chanted the last note of the English cheer, the speechless friend had barely drained the last drop out of his glass, when the festive proceedings were interrupted by a modest tap at the door.  A woman-servant came in, and approached her master with a little note in her hand.  Obenreizer opened the note with a frown; and, after reading it with an expression of genuine annoyance, passed it on to his compatriot and friend.  Vendale’s spirits rose as he watched these proceedings.  Had he found an ally in the annoying little note?  Was the long-looked-for chance actually coming at last?

“I am afraid there is no help for it?” said Obenreizer, addressing his fellow-countryman.  “I am afraid we must go.”

The speechless friend handed back the letter, shrugged his heavy shoulders, and poured himself out a last glass of wine.  His fat fingers lingered fondly round the neck of the bottle.  They pressed it with a little amatory squeeze at parting.  His globular eyes looked dimly, as through an intervening haze, at Vendale and Marguerite.  His heavy articulation laboured, and brought forth a whole sentence at a birth.  “I think,” he said, “I should have liked a little more wine.”  His breath failed him after that effort; he gasped, and walked to the door.

Obenreizer addressed himself to Vendale with an appearance of the deepest distress.

“I am so shocked, so confused, so distressed,” he began.  “A misfortune has happened to one of my compatriots.  He is alone, he is ignorant of your language—­I and my good friend, here, have no choice but to go and help him.  What can I say in my excuse?  How can I describe my affliction at depriving myself in this way of the honour of your company?”

He paused, evidently expecting to see Vendale take up his hat and retire.  Discerning his opportunity at last, Vendale determined to do nothing of the kind.  He met Obenreizer dexterously, with Obenreizer’s own weapons.

“Pray don’t distress yourself,” he said.  “I’ll wait here with the greatest pleasure till you come back.”

Marguerite blushed deeply, and turned away to her embroidery-frame in a corner by the window.  The film showed itself in Obenreizer’s eyes, and the smile came something sourly to Obenreizer’s lips.  To have told Vendale that there was no reasonable prospect of his coming back in good time, would have been to risk offending a man whose favourable opinion was of solid commercial importance to him.  Accepting his defeat with the best possible grace, he declared himself to be equally honoured and delighted by Vendale’s proposal.  “So frank, so friendly, so English!” He bustled about, apparently looking for something he wanted, disappeared for a moment through the folding-doors communicating with the next room, came back with his hat and coat, and protesting that he would return at the earliest possible moment, embraced Vendale’s elbows, and vanished from the scene in company with the speechless friend.