“What I mean I say,” replied the other, with something very like cool contempt.  “I say you made a fool of yourself.  When a man is drunk, he does his best to appear sober; you, being sober, tried to appear drunk, and made a fool of yourself.”

“My friend Beratinsky,” said the younger man, hotly, “you have a right to your own opinion—­every man has that; but you should take care not to make an ass of yourself by expressing it.  Do not speak of things you know nothing about—­that is my advice to you.”

Beratinsky did not answer; and the two walked on in silence until they reached the Verein, and entered the long, resounding hall, which was nearly empty.  But the few members who remained were making up for their paucity of numbers by their mirth and noise.  As Beratinsky and his companion took their seats at the upper end of the table the chairman struck his hammer violently, and commanded silence.

“Silentium, meine Herren!” he thundered out.  “I have a secret to communicate.  A great honor has been done one of our members, and even his overwhelming modesty permits it to be known at last.  Our good friend Josef Hempel has been appointed Hof-maler to the Grand-duke of ——.  I call in you to drink his health and the Grand-duke’s too!”

Then there was a quick filling of glasses; a general uprising; cries of “Hempel!  Hempel!” “The Duke!” followed by a resounding chorus—­

“Hoch sollen sie leben! 
Hoch sollen sie leben! 
Dreimal hoch!”—­

that echoed away down the empty hall.  Then the tumult subsided; and the president, rising, said gravely,

“I now call on our good friend Hempel to reply to the toast, and to give us a few remarks on the condition of art in the Grand Duchy of ——­, with some observations and reflections on the altered position of the Duchy since the unification of our Fatherland.”

In answer to this summons there rose to his feet a short old gentleman, with a remarkably fresh complexion, silvery-white hair, and merry blue eyes that peered through gold-rimmed spectacles.  He was all smiles and blushes; and the longer they cheered the more did he smile and blush.

“Gentlemen,” he said; and this was the signal for further cheering; “Gentlemen,” said the blushing orator, at length, “our friend is at his old tricks.  I cannot make a speech to you—­except this:  I ask you to drink a glass of champagne with me.  Kellner—­Champagner!”

And he incontinently dropped into his seat again, having forgotten altogether to acknowledge the compliment paid to himself and the Grand-duke.

However, this was like the letting in of water; for no sooner had the two or three bottles ordered by Herr Hempel been exhausted than one after another of his companions seemed to consider it was their turn now, and loud-shouted orders were continually being administered to the busy waiter.  Wine flowed and sparkled; cigars were freely exchanged; the volume of conversation rose in tone, for all were speaking at once; the din became fast and furious.