Essper George stood moralising at the table, and emptying every glass
whose contents were not utterly drained, with the exception of the
tumblers of the cloth-merchants, of whose liquor he did not approve.

"Poor man! to get only one glass out of his own bottle! Ay! call for M.
Maas; threaten as you will. Your grandfather will not help you here.
Blood out of a wall and money out of a student come the same day. Ah! is
your Excellency here?" said Essper, turning round to our two travellers
with affected surprise, although he had observed them the whole time.
"Is your Excellency here? I have been looking for you through Frankfort
this whole morning. There! it will do for your glass. It is of chamois
leather, and I made it myself, from a beast I caught last summer in the
valley of the Rhone." So saying, he threw over Vivian's neck a neat
chain, or cord, of curiously-worked leather.

"Who the devil is this, Grey?" asked the Baron.

"A funny knave, whom I once saved from a thrashing, or something of the
kind, which I do him the justice to say he well deserved."

"Who the devil is this?" said Essper George. "Why, that is exactly the
same question I myself asked when I saw a tall, pompous, proud fellow,
dressed like a peacock on a May morning, standing at the door just now.
He looked as if he would pass himself off for an ambassador at least;
but I told him that if he got his wages paid he was luckier than most
servants. Was I right, your Excellency?"

"Poor Ernstorff!" said the Baron, laughing. "Yes; _he_ certainly gets
paid. Here, you are a clever varlet; fill your glass."