"Your good health," I said, and drank to him. "What an excellent drink it is!"
"Well enough in its way," the German murmured, and brushed a few drops off his moustache. "But still, I say, I wish I was sitting in 'Drei Raben' with a good glass of Spaten-Bräu in front of me, as I have done so many excellent times at this hour of the day."
"So you know Dresden?" It flew out of me. Drei Raben! The whole scene with Stephensen stood quite vividly before me.
The German laughed a little.
"I should think so, but I didn't know that you had been there. For long?"
"For two years. I went to the Polytechnic. It's now four years since I left."
"H'm. I was there two years before. Played with Lauterbach.… That was something different to London. What an opera! Oh yes, yes!"
He strummed with his fingers on the table, and glanced dreamily in front of him.
"Waiter, Johannisberger Schloss! With the German remembrance German wine!"
"The golden days of youth, artist life," I thought. "He also clings to his Dresden memories; but oh, what could they be compared with mine!"
The wine came; he poured it out. "A glass for our Elbe Florentine days!" We clinked glasses, emptied them, and stared long and silently in front of us.
"I suppose you also came often to Renner, in 'Drei Raben,' I mean?" he asked in a distrait tone.
"No, I have only been there once. Perhaps you lived in the neighbourhood?"
"Yes, quite close by."
