For the last year or two the name of Rudolph von Blitzenberg had appeared in the members' list of that most exclusive of institutions, the Regent's Club, Pall Mall; and it was thither he drove on this fine afternoon of July. At no resort in London were more famous personages to be found, diplomatic and otherwise, and nothing would have been more natural than a meeting between the Baron and a European celebrity beneath its roof; so that if you had seen him bounding impetuously up the steps, and noted the eagerness with which he inquired whether a gentleman had called for him, you would have had considerable excuse for supposing his appointment to be with a dignitary of the highest importance.

“Goot!” he cried on learning that a stranger was indeed waiting for him. His face beamed with anticipatory joy. Aha! he was not to be disappointed.

“Vill he be jost the same?” he wondered. “Ah, if he is changed I shall veep!”

He rushed into the smoking-room, and there, instead of any bald notability or spectacled statesman, there advanced to meet him a merely private English gentleman, tolerably young, undeniably good-looking, and graced with the most debonair of smiles.

“My dear Bonker!” cried the Baron, crimsoning with joy. “Ach, how pleased I am!”

“Baron!” replied his visitor gaily. “You cannot deceive me—that waistcoat was made in Germany! Let me lead you to a respectable tailor!”

Yet, despite his bantering tone, it was easy to see that he took an equal pleasure in the meeting.

“Ha, ha!” laughed the Baron, “vot a fonny zing to say! Droll as ever, eh?”

“Five years less droll than when we first met,” said the late Bunker and present Essington. “You meet a dullish dog, Baron—a sobered reveller.”

“Ach, no! Not surely? Do not disappoint me, dear Bonker!”

The Baron's plaintive note seemed to amuse his friend.

“You don't mean to say you actually wish a boon companion? You, Baron, the modern Talleyrand, the repository of three emperors' secrets? My dear fellow, I nearly came in deep mourning.”

“Mourning! For vat?”

“For our lamented past: I supposed you would have the air of a Nonconformist beadle.”

“My friend!” said the Baron eagerly, and yet with a lowering of his voice, “I vould not like to engage a beadle mit jost ze same feelings as me. Come here to zis corner and let us talk! Vaiter! whisky—soda—cigars—all for two. Come, Bonker!”

Stretched in arm-chairs, in a quiet corner of the room, the two surveyed one another with affectionate and humorous interest. For three years they had not seen one another at all, and save once they had not met for five. In five years a man may change his religion or lose his hair, inherit a principality or part with a reputation, grow a beard or turn teetotaler. Nothing so fundamental had happened to either of our friends. The Baron's fullness of contour we have already noticed; in Mandell-Essington, EX Bunker, was to be seen even less evidence of the march of time. But years, like wheels upon a road, can hardly pass without leaving in their wake some faint impress, however fair the weather, and perhaps his hair lay a fraction of an inch higher up the temple, and in the corners of his eyes a hint might even be discerned of those little wrinkles that register the smiles and frowns. Otherwise he was the same distinguished-looking, immaculately dressed, supremely self-possessed, and charming Francis Bunker, whom the Baron's memory stored among its choicer possessions.

“Tell me,” demanded the Baron, “vat you are doing mit yourself, mine Bonker.”

“Doing?” said Essington, lighting his cigar. “Well, my dear Baron, I am endeavoring to live as I imagine a gentleman should.”

“And how is zat?”

“Riding a little, shooting a little, and occasionally telling the truth. At other times I cock a wise eye at my modest patrimony, now and then I deliver a lecture with magic-lantern slides; and when I come up to town I sometimes watch cricket-matches. A devilish invigorating programme, isn't it?”

“Ha, ha!” laughed the Baron again; he had come prepared to laugh, and carried out his intention religiously. “But you do not feel more old and sober, eh?”

“I don't want to, but no man can avoid his destiny. The natives of this island are a serious people, or if they are frivolous, it is generally a trifle vulgarly done. The diversions of the professedly gay-hooting over pointless badinage and speculating whose turn it is to get divorced next—become in time even more sobering than a scientific study with diagrams of how to breed pheasants or play golf. If some one would teach us the simple art of being light-hearted he would deserve to be placed along with Nelson on his monument.”

“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?”

“H'm,” reflected Essington, with a comical look. “There's a lot of scaffolding at the bottom of St. James's Street. Should we have it down to-night? Or what do you say to a packet of dynamite in the two-penny tube?”

The Baron sobered down a trifle.

“Ach, not so fast, not qvite so fast, dear Bonker. Remember I must not get into troble at ze embassy.”

“My dear fellow, that's your pull. Foreign diplomatists are police-proof!”

“Ah, but my wife!”

“One stormy hour—then tears and forgiveness!”

The Baron lowered his voice.

“Her mozzer vill visit us next veek. I loff and respect Lady Grillyer; but I should not like to have to ask her for forgiveness.”

“Yes, she has rather an uncompromising nose, so far as I remember.”

“It is a kind nose to her friends, Bonker,” the Baron explained, “but severe towards——”

“Myself, for instance,” laughed Essington. “Well, what do you suggest?”

“First, zat you dine mit me to-night. No, I vill take no refusal! Listen! I am now meeting a distinguished person on important international business—do you pairceive? Ha, ha, ha! To-night it vill be necessary ve most dine togezzer. I have an engagement, but he can be put off for soch a great person as the man I am now meeting at ze club! You vill gom?”

“I should have been delighted—only unluckily I have a man dining with me. I tell you what! You come and join us! Will you?”

“If zat is ze only vay—yes, mit pleasure! Who is ze man?”

“Young Tulliwuddle. Do you remember going to a dance at Lord Tulliwuddle's, some five and a half years ago?”

“Himmel! Ha, ha! Vell do I remember!”

“Well, our host of that evening died the other day, and this fellow is his heir—a second or third cousin whose existence was so displeasing to the old peer that he left him absolutely nothing that wasn't entailed, and never said 'How-do-you-do?' to him in his life. In consequence, he may not entertain you as much as I should like.”

“If he is your friend, I shall moch enjoy his society!”

“I am flattered, but hardly convinced. Tulliwuddle's intellect is scarcely of the sparkling kind. However, come and try.”

The hour, the place, were arranged; a reminiscence or two exchanged; fresh suggestions thrown out for the rejuvenation of a Bavarian magnate; another baronial laugh shook the foundations of the club; and then, as the afternoon was wearing on, the Baron hailed a cab and galloped for Belgrave Square, and the late Mr. Bunker sauntered off along Pall Mall.

“Who can despair of human nature while the Baron von Blitzenberg adorns the earth?” he reflected. “The discovery of champagne and the invention of summer holidays were minor events compared with his descent from Olympus!”

He bought a button-hole at the street corner and cocked his hat, more airily than ever.

“A volcanic eruption may inspire one to succor humanity, a wedding to condole with it, and a general election to warn it of its folly; but the Baron inspires one to amuse!”

Meanwhile that Heaven-sent nobleman, with a manner enshrouded in mystery, was comforting his wife.

“Ah, do not grieve, mine Alicia! No doubt ze Duke vill be disappointed not to see us to-night, but I have telegraphed. Ja, I have said I had so important an affair. Ach, do not veep! I did not know you wanted so moch to dine mit ze old Duke. I sopposed you vould like a quiet evening at home. But anyhow I have now telegraphed—and my leetle dinner mit my friend—Ach, it is so important zat I most rosh and get dressed. Cheer up, my loff! Good-by!”

He paused in answer to a tearful question.

“His name? Alas, I have promised not to say. You vould not have a European war by my indiscretion?”