and disparaging the
appearance of the passers-by. After dinner he was driven by boredom into
the streets. His chest puffed out like a pigeon's, and with something of
a pigeon's cold and inquiring eye, he strutted, annoyed at the frequency
of uniforms, which seemed to him both needless and offensive. His spleen
rose at this crowd of foreigners, who spoke an unintelligible language,
wore hair on their faces, and smoked bad tobacco. 'A queer lot!' he
thought. The sound of music from a cafe attracted him; he walked in,
vaguely moved by a wish for the distinction of adventure, without the
trouble which adventure usually brought with it; spurred too, perhaps, by
an after-dinner demon. The cafe was the bier-halle of the 'Fifties, with
a door at either end, and lighted by a large wooden lantern. On a small
dais three musicians were fiddling. Solitary men, or groups, sat at some
dozen tables, and the waiters hurried about replenishing glasses; the air
was thick with smoke. Swithin sat down. "Wine!" he said sternly. The
astonished waiter brought him wine. Swithin pointed to a beer glass on
the table. "Here!" he said, with the same ferocity. The waiter poured
out the wine. 'Ah!' thought Swithin, 'they can understand if they like.'
A group of officers close by were laughing; Swithin stared at them
uneasily. A hollow cough sounded almost in his ear. To his left a man
sat reading, with his elbows on the corners of a journal, and his gaunt
shoulders raised almost to his eyes. He had a thin, long nose,
broadening suddenly at the nostrils; a black-brown beard, spread in a
savage fan over his chest; what was visible of the face was the colour of
old parchment. A strange, wild, haughty-looking creature! Swithin
observed his clothes with some displeasure--they were the clothes of a
journalist or strolling actor. And yet he was impressed. This was
singular. How could he be impressed by a fellow in such clothes! The
man reached out a hand, covered with black hairs, and took up a tumbler
that contained a dark-coloured fluid. 'Brandy!' thought Swithin. The
crash of a falling chair startled him--his neighbour had risen. He was
of immense height, and very thin; his great beard seemed to splash away
from his mouth; he was glaring at the group of officers, and speaking.
Swithin made out two words: "Hunde! Deutsche Hunde!" 'Hounds! Dutch
hounds!' he thought: 'Rather strong!' One of the officers had jumped up,
and now drew h