but the large black eyes, with their bold, fiery gaze, suited the rosy
cheeks and fair hair as little as they had formerly harmonized with the old
man's pallid countenance. But at any rate the present youthfulness was no
disguise, and the swift, vigorous movements were no assumption; that was
evident from the ease and speed with which the baron, after entering one of
the handsomest houses in the Grabenstrasse, ran up the stairs, never
pausing until he had mounted the third flight. Beside the bell of a glass
door, on a shining brass plate, was engraved the name of Count von Kotte.
Baron von Moudenfels pulled this bell so violently that it echoed loudly,
and at the door, which instantly opened, appeared a liveried servant with
an angry face, muttering with tolerable distinctness something about
unseemly noise and rude manners.

"Is Count von Kotte at home?" asked the baron hastily.

"No," muttered the lackey, "the count isn't at home, and it wasn't
necessary to ring so horribly loud to ask the question."

He stepped back and was about to close the door again, but the baron thrust
his foot between it and the frame and seized the man's sleeve.

"My good fellow, I _must_ see the count," he said imperiously.

"But when I tell you that the count isn't--"

He stopped suddenly in the middle of his sentence and cast a stolen glance
at the florin which the baron had pressed into his hand.

"Announce me to Count von Kotte," said the baron pleasantly. "He will
certainly receive me."