"Ah, then it can't be the same person," said I: "still, if he
should happen to pass near us, will you point him out to me?"
It was an hour later, and we were all hotly discussing the question
of Lessing's obligations to English literature, when one of the
gentlemen at the table said: "There goes the Baron von Herisau: is
it perhaps your friend, sir?"
I turned and saw a tall man, with prominent nose, opaque black
eyes, and black mustache, walking beside a pretty, insipid girl.
Behind the pair went an elderly couple, overdressed and snobbish in
appearance. A carriage, with servants in livery, waited in the
open space below the terrace, and having received the two couples,
whirled swiftly away towards Altenstein.
Had I been more of a philosopher I should have wasted no second
thought on the Baron von Herisau. But the Nemesis of the knowledge
which I had throttled poor Otto Lindenschmidt's ghost to obtain had
come upon me at last, and there was no rest for me until I had
discovered who and what was the Baron. The list of guests which
the landlord gave me whetted my curiosity to a painful degree; for
on it I found the entry: "Aug.
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