Part 57 (1/2)

”We buried her three weeks ago, Herr Baron. Just three weeks ago to-day.”

”Buried her?” repeated Botho. ”And where?”

”Over behind the Rollkrug, in the new Jacob's churchyard.... She was a good old woman. And how she did love Lena! Yes, Herr Baron, Mother Nimptsch is dead. But Frau Dorr is still living (and he laughed), and she will live a long time yet. And if she comes--it is a long way--I will give her your greeting. And I can see already how pleased she will be. You know her, Herr Baron. Oh yes, Frau Dorr ...”

And Gideon Franke took off his hat once more and the door closed.

CHAPTER XXI

When Rienacker was alone again, he was as if benumbed by this meeting and by all that he had heard toward the close of the interview.

Whenever, since his marriage, he had recalled the little house in the garden and its inmates, he had as a matter of course pictured everything in his mind just as it had been formerly, and now everything was changed and he must find his way in a completely new world: there were strangers living in the little house, if indeed it was occupied at all; there was no fire burning in the fireplace any more, at least not day in and day out, and Frau Nimptsch, who had kept up the fire, was dead and buried in the new Jacob's churchyard. All this whirled round and round in his head, and suddenly he also recalled the day when, half seriously, half in jest, he had promised the good old woman to lay a wreath of immortelles on her grave. In the restlessness that had come over him, he was very glad that he had remembered the promise and decided to fulfil it at once. ”To the Rollkrug at noon and the sun reflected from the ground--a regular journey to central Africa. But the good old woman shall have her wreath.”

And he took his cap and sword at once and left the house.

At the corner there was a cab stand, a small one, indeed, and so it happened that in spite of the sign: ”Standing room for three cabs”

there was usually nothing there but standing room or, very seldom, one cab. It was so to-day also, which in consideration of the noon hour (when all cabs are in the habit of disappearing as if the earth had swallowed them) was not particularly surprising at this cab stand which was one merely in name. Therefore Botho went further along, until, near the Von der Heydt Bridge, he met a somewhat rickety vehicle, painted light green, with a red plush seat and drawn by a white horse. The horse seemed barely able to trot and Rienacker could not keep from smiling rather pitifully when he thought of the ”tour” that was in store for the poor beast. But as far as his eye could see, nothing better was in sight, and so he stepped up to the driver and said: ”To the Rollkrug. Jacob's churchyard.”

”Very good, Herr Baron.”

”But we must stop somewhere on the way. I shall want to buy a wreath.”

”Very good, Herr Baron.”

Botho was somewhat surprised at the prompt and repeated use of his t.i.tle and so he said: ”Do you know me?”

”Yes, Herr Baron. Baron Rienacker of Landgrafenstra.s.se. Close by the cab stand. I have often driven you before.”

During this conversation Botho had got in, meaning to make himself as comfortable as possible in the corner of the plush cus.h.i.+oned seat, but he soon gave up that idea, for the corner was as hot as an oven.

Rienacker had, in common with all Brandenburg n.o.blemen, the pleasing and good-hearted trait that he preferred to talk with plain people rather than with more ”cultivated” folk, and so he began at once, while they were in the half shade of the young trees along the ca.n.a.l: ”How hot it is! Your horse cannot have been much pleased when he heard me say Rollkrug.”

”Oh, Rollkrug is well enough; Rollkrug is well enough because of the woods. When he gets there and smells the pines, he is always pleased.

You see, he is from the country.... Or perhaps it is the music too. At any rate, he always p.r.i.c.ks up his ears.”

”Indeed,” said Botho. ”He doesn't look to me much like dancing.... But where can we get the wreath then? I do not want to get to the churchyard without a wreath.”

”Oh, there is plenty of time for that, Herr Baron. As soon as we get into the neighborhood of the churchyard, from the Halle Gate on and the whole length of the Pioneerstra.s.se.”

”Yes, yes, you are quite right. I was forgetting....”

”And after that, until you are close to the churchyard, there are plenty more places.”

Botho smiled. ”You are perhaps a Silesian?”

”Yes,” said the driver. ”Most of us are. But I have been here a long time now, and so I am half a true Berliner.”