hastily, almost hurriedly, and advanced towards the poet, who made a low bow.
"I am very much pleased to make your acquaintance," he said, "dear sir … dear Doctor, I believe?"
"No, Royal Highness," answered Axel Martini in an asthmatic voice, "not doctor, I've no title."
"Oh, forgive me … I assumed … Let's sit down, dear Herr Martini. I am, as I have said, delighted to be able to congratulate you on your great success.…"
Herr Martini drew down the corners of his mouth. He sat down on the edge of one of the mahogany arm-chairs, at the uncovered table, round whose edge ran a gold border, and crossed his feet, which were cased in cracked patent-leather boots. He was in a frock-coat and wore yellow gloves. His collar was frayed at the edges. He had rather staring eyes, thin cheeks and a dark yellow moustache, which was clipped like a hedge. His hair was already quite grey on the temples, although according to the "May-combat" Annual he was not more than thirty years old, and under his eyes glowed patches of red which did not suggest robust health. He answered Klaus Heinrich's congratulations: "Your Royal Highness is very kind. It was not a difficult victory. Perhaps it was hardly tactful of me to compete."
Klaus Heinrich did not understand this; but he said: "I have read your poem repeatedly with great pleasure. It seems to me a complete success, as regards both metre and rhyme. And it entirely expresses the 'Joy of Life.'"
Herr Martini bowed in his chair.
"Your skill," continued Klaus Heinrich, "must be a source of great pleasure to you—an ideal recreation. What is your calling, Herr Martini?"
Herr Martini showed that he did not understand, by describing a note of interrogation with the upper half of his body.
