After slowly examining the Sage, Argensola came to the conclusion that he looked like an officer dressed as a civilian.  He noticed in his person an effort to imitate the soldierly when occasionally discarding uniform—­the ambition of every German burgher wishing to be taken for the superior class.  His trousers were narrow, as though intended to be tucked into cavalry boots.  His coat with two rows of buttons had the contracted waist with very full skirt and upstanding lapels, suggesting vaguely a military great coat.  The reddish moustachios, strong jaw and shaved head completed his would-be martial appearance; but his eyes, large, dark-circled and near-sighted, were the eyes of a student taking refuge behind great thick glasses which gave him the aspect of a man of peace.

Desnoyers knew that he was an assistant professor of the University, that he had published a few volumes, fat and heavy as bricks, and that he was a member of an academic society collaborating in documentary research directed by a famous historian.  In his lapel he was wearing the badge of a foreign order.

Julio’s respect for the learned member of the family was not unmixed with contempt.  He and his sister Chichi had from childhood felt an instinctive hostility toward the cousins from Berlin.  It annoyed him, too, to have his family everlastingly holding up as a model this pedant who only knew life as it is in books, and passed his existence investigating what men had done in other epochs, in order to draw conclusions in harmony with Germany’s views.  While young Desnoyers had great facility for admiration, and reverenced all those whose “arguments” Argensola had doled out to him, he drew the line at accepting the intellectual grandeur of this illustrious relative.

During his stay in Berlin, a German word of vulgar invention had enabled him to classify this prig.  Heavy books of minute investigation were every month being published by the dozens in the Fatherland.  There was not a professor who could resist the temptation of constructing from the simplest detail an enormous volume written in a dull, involved style.  The people, therefore, appreciating that these near-sighted authors were incapable of any genial vision of comradeship, called them Sitzfleisch haben, because of the very long sittings which their works represented.  That was what this cousin was for him, a mere Sitzfleisch haben.

Doctor von Hartrott, on explaining his visit, spoke in Spanish.  He availed himself of this language used by the family during his childhood, as a precaution, looking around repeatedly as if he feared to be heard.  He had come to bid his cousin farewell.  His mother had told him of his return, and he had not wished to leave Paris without seeing him.  He was leaving in a few hours, since matters were growing more strained.

“But do you really believe that there will be war?” asked Desnoyers.

“War will be declared to-morrow or the day after.  Nothing can prevent it now.  It is necessary for the welfare of humanity.”