“Oh, my dear vellow!” cried the Baron.  “Do I hear zese kind of vords from you?”

“If you starved a city-full of people, wouldn’t you expect to hear the man with the biggest appetite cry loudest?”

The Baron’s face fell further and Essington laughed aloud.

“Come, Baron, hang it!  You of all people should be delighted to see me a fellow-member of respectable society.  I take you to be the type of the conventional aristocrat.  Why, a fellow who’s been travelling in Germany said to me lately, when I asked about you—­’Von Blitzenberg,’ said he, ’he’s used as a simile for traditional dignity.  His very dogs have to sit up on their hind-legs when he inspects the kennels!’ "

The Baron with a solemn face gulped down his whisky-and-soda.

“Zat is not true about my dogs,” he replied, “but I do confess my life is vary dignified.  So moch is expected of a Blitzenberg.  Oh, ja, zere is moch state and ceremony.”

“And you seem to thrive on it.”

“Vell, it does not destroy ze appetite,” the Baron admitted; “and it is my duty so to live at Fogelschloss, and I alvays vish to do my duty.  But, ach, sometimes I do vant to kick ze trace!”

“You mean you would want to if it were not for the Baroness?”

Bunker smiled whimsically; but his friend continued as simply serious as ever.

“Alicia is ze most divine woman in ze world—­I respect her, Bonker, I love her, I gonsider her my better angel; but even in Heaven, I suppose, peoples sometimes vould enjoy a stroll in Piccadeelly, or in some vay to exercise ze legs and shout mit excitement.  No doubt you zink it unaccountable and strange—­pairhaps ungrateful of me, eh?”

“On the contrary, I feel as I should if I feared this cigar had gone out and then found it alight after all.”

“You say so!  Ah, zen I will have more boldness to confess my heart!  Bonker, ven I did land in England ze leetle thought zat vould rise vas—­’Ze land of freedom vunce again!  Here shall I not have to be alvays ze Baron von Blitzenberg, oldest noble in Bavaria, hereditary carpet-beater to ze Court!  I vill disguise and go mit old Bonker for a frolic!’ "

“You touch my tenderest chord, Baron!”

“Goot, goot, my friend!” cried the Baron, warming to his work of confession like a penitent whose absolution is promised in advance; “you speak ze vords I love to hear!  Of course I vould not be vicked, and I vould not disgrace myself; but I do need a leetle exercise.  Is it possible?”

Essington sprang up and enthusiastically shook his hand.

“Dear Baron, you come like a ray of sunshine through a London fog—­like a moulin rouge alighting in Carlton House Terrace!  I thought my own leaves were yellowing; I now perceive that was only an autumnal change.  Spring has returned, and I feel like a green bay tree!”

“Hoch, hoch!” roared the Baron, to the great surprise of two Cabinet Ministers and a Bishop who were taking tea at the other side of the room.  “Vat shall ve do to show zere is no sick feeling?”