“Come, come!” the fat man frowned. “What’s this tone for? You and I were friends as boys, and there is no need of this official obsequiousness!”

“Merciful heavens, your Excellency! What are you saying …?” sniggered the thin man, wriggling more than ever. “Your Excellency’s gracious attention is like refreshing manna. … This, your Excellency, is my son Nafanail, … my wife Luise, a Lutheran in a certain sense.”

The fat man was about to make some protest, but the face of the thin man wore an expression of such reverence, sugariness, and mawkish respectfulness that the privy councillor was sickened. He turned away from the thin man, giving him his hand at parting.

The thin man pressed three fingers, bowed his whole body and sniggered like a Chinaman: “He-he-he!” His wife smiled. Nafanail scraped with his foot and dropped his cap. All three were agreeably overwhelmed.