“That is the coolest thing I have ever heard.  May I ask first of all why you cut me on entering the room?”

“I only recognize people whom I esteem,” said Wilhelm over his shoulder.

“You are a fool,” flashed back Pechlar’s answer.

Perfectly master of himself, Wilhelm said to Loulou, “I am extremely sorry that I have been the cause of an outbreak of bad manners in your presence,” then he bowed and left the room, while Loulou sat there motionless, and Herr von Pechlar gave him a scornful laugh.

With all his retirement from the world, and his indifference to the usages of society, Wilhelm felt nevertheless a sharp stab of pain, as if he had been struck across the face with a whip.  As he walked down the Koniggratzer Strasse it seemed to him as if a bright, fiery wound burned on his face, and the passers-by were staring at this sign of insult.  His powerful imagination formed pictures unceasingly of violent deeds of revenge.  He saw himself standing with a smoking pistol opposite the offender, who fell to the ground with a wound in his forehead; or he fought with him, and after a long struggle he suddenly pierced the hussar through the breast with his sword.  By degrees his blood cooled, and with all the strength of his will he fought against the feelings which he knew formed the brute element in man, and which with his philosophy he believed he had tamed, and he said to himself, “No, no fighting.  What good would it do?  I should either kill him, or be killed myself.  His insulting words really do me no more harm than the yelping of this little dog who is running past me.  I will not let a remnant of prejudice be stronger than my judgment.”

Although he had come to this resolution, his nerves were still so unstrung that he could not quiet them alone.  He felt he must unburden himself to some one, so he hastened toward Dr. Schrotter’s.  The doctor, however, had not yet returned from his hospital.  Wilhelm soon found the inmates of his friend’s household, an old Indian man-servant and a housekeeper, also an Indian of about thirty-five, with a yellow face already wrinkled and withered, large dark eyes, and a gold-piece hanging from her nostrils.  The old man maintained a respectful attitude toward her, which pointed to a great difference of caste between them.  The woman showed by her small hands and feet, and the nobility of her expression, the modest and yet dignified character of a lady, rather than of a person in a subordinate position.  Both wore Indian dress, and attracted great attention when they showed themselves in the street.  They hardly ever went out, however, and were always busily employed in service for Dr. Schrotter, to whom they were very devoted.

The old man, who spoke a little English, opened the door to him, and told him that Schrotter Sahib would soon be in.  The woman also appeared, and beckoned to him to go and wait in the drawing-room, opening the door as she did so.  As he went in she crossed her arms on her breast, bowed her head with its golden-colored silk turban, and vanished noiselessly.  She only spoke Hindustani, and always greeted Wilhelm in this expressive manner.