“Was it a happy marriage?” asked the American, taking his cigar from his mouth.

“Exceedingly.  Husband killed at Plevna.  Left her lots of tin.”

They reached their destination.  The Countess was at home.  The Countess was enchanted to make the acquaintance of Monsieur, and on learning that he was an American and a compatriot, was delighted to see him.  They conversed pleasantly.  In the course of twenty minutes the aristocracy discovered he had an engagement and departed, but Mr. Barker remained.  It was rather stretching his advantage, but he did not lack confidence.

“So you, too, Countess, have been in Heidelberg this summer?”

“About three weeks ago.  I am very fond of the old place.”

“Lovely, indeed,” said Barker.  “The castle, the old tower half blown away in that slovenly war—­”

“Oh, such a funny thing happened to me there,” exclaimed the Countess Margaret, innocently falling into the trap.  “I was standing just at the edge with Miss Skeat—­she is my companion, you know—­and I dropped my parasol, and it fell rattling to the bottom, and suddenly there started, apparently out of space—­”

“A German professor, seven or eight feet high, who bounded after the sunshade, and bounded back and bowed and left you to your astonishment.  Is not that what you were going to say, Countess?”

“I believe you are a medium,” said the Countess, looking at Barker in astonishment.  “But perhaps you only guessed it.  Can you tell me what he was like, this German professor?”

“Certainly.  He had long yellow hair, and a beard like Rip van Winkle’s, and large white hands; and he was altogether one of the most striking individuals you ever saw.”

“It is evident that you know him, Mr. Barker, and that he has told you the story.  Though how you should have known it was I—­”

“Guess-work and my friend’s description.”

“But how do you come to be intimate with German professors, Mr. Barker?  Are you learned, and that sort of thing?”

“He was a German professor once.  He is now an eccentricity without a purpose.  Worth millions, and living in a Heidelberg garret, wishing he were poor again.”

“What an interesting creature!  Tell me more, please.”

Barker told as much of Claudius’s history as he knew.

“Too delightful!” ejaculated the Countess Margaret, looking out of the window rather pensively.

“Countess,” said the American, “if I had enjoyed the advantage of your acquaintance even twenty-four hours I would venture to ask leave to present my friend to you.  As it is—­” Mr. Barker paused.

“As it is I will grant you the permission unasked,” said the Countess quietly, still looking out of the window.  “I am enough of an American still to know that your name is a guarantee for any one you introduce.”

“You are very kind,” said Mr. Barker modestly.  Indeed the name of Barker had long been honourably known in connection with New York enterprise.  The Barkers were not Dutch, it is true, but they had the next highest title to consideration in that their progenitor had dwelt in Salem, Massachusetts.