"Albrecht Count Tauern-Barenheim." He did not delay to read the other card, but began dutifully to make little bows. Meanwhile the second officer turned to Gottlieb Hornung.
"Of course, my friend meant no harm by the little joke. Needless to say, he is perfectly ready to give you satisfaction, but I wish to state that no insult was intended."
The other, at whom he glanced, shrugged his shoulders. Diederich stuttered: "Thank you very much."
"That settles the matter, I suppose," said the friend; and the two gentlemen went off.
Diederich remained standing there, with moist brow and choking voice. Suddenly he gave a deep sigh and smiled slowly.
This incident was the sole subject of conversation afterwards at their drinking parties. Diederich praised the true knightly conduct of the count to his comrades.
"A real nobleman always reveals himself."
He contracted his mouth until it was the size of a mousehole and brought out in a slow crescendo: "Good f—form is not a vain illusion."
He repeatedly appealed to Gottlieb Hornung as the witness of his great moment. "He wasn't a bit stuck up, was he? Even a rather daring joke is nothing to a gentleman like that. He preserved his dignity all through. Simply marvellous, I tell you! His Excellence's explanation was so thoroughly satisfactory that it was impossible for me to—you know, I am no roughneck."
Every one understood and assured Diederich that the tradition of the Neo-Teutons had been adequately maintained in this affair. The cards of the two noblemen were handed round by the juniors and were stuck between the crossed swords over the Emperor's portrait. There was not a Neo-Teuton that night who went home sober.
That was the end of the term, but Diederich and Hornung
