"Even at the time I recall, my friend was considered a very smart officer," said Bertram.
"No doubt, no doubt," replied the Baron; "it must be the same man. As far as I know, there are not two Waldors in the army, at least not among regimental commanders, for I think I know all their names by heart. Your Colonel is a queer fish, anyhow."
"What is a 'queer fish'?" asked Lydia, touching the Baron's arm with her fan.
He laughed, and said: "Well, that question is more easily asked than answered."
"Then, pray, do not answer it at all," said Hildegard, the hostess, glancing at her daughter Erna.
"Why not, my Lady?" the Baron exclaimed. "It is harmless enough to let the facts speak, and it is a fact that Waldor who--I do not know him personally, but Dr. Bertram will assuredly confirm my statement--was known throughout the army not only on account of his gallantry, but also on account of his manly beauty, and who had consequently broken countless hearts, is still a bachelor."
"You say 'consequently,'" exclaimed Lydia, "and consequently you think very meanly of our sex."
"Well, you seem to assume that manly beauty suffices to touch--or, as you are pleased to call it, to break--female hearts. Alas, my dear Baron, how little do you know our sex!"
"I beg a thousand pardons--but I really said nothing of the kind. Venus and Mars--the alliance of valour and beauty, you know--your poets know something of this. Why, there is a poet here among us--let him speak up for me!"
With these last words the Baron had turned to Bertram; his tone and the accompanying gesture had something insultingly patronising about them; in fact, in Bertram's eye the whole demeanour of the young man, almost a giant in stature, was saturated with an arrogant sort of self-complacency, which seemed to take unanimous applause for granted. Nevertheless he replied with calm politeness:
"I neither consider myself a poet, nor am I, to the best of my knowledge, considered one by anybody who has read the few miserable trifles in verse which I published years ago."
"I protest against this most emphatically," exclaimed Lydia. "I have read those 'miserable trifles in verse,' as you call them--what a horrible expression. I know them by heart, and I consider the author to be a poet--a poet by grace divine."