Part 9 (1/2)

”You come here frequently?” he began, to open the conversation.

”Yes, sir, since my master and myself have settled down here--we travelled most of the time until several years ago--I find this place very convenient. It's a cosy little room, the wine is good and not expensive, I'm near home and yet I can see some new faces occasionally.”

”I hope the faces that you see about you at home are not so unpleasant that you are glad to get away from them?” asked Muller with a smile.

The old man gave a start of alarm. ”Oh, dear, no, sir,” he exclaimed eagerly; ”that wasn't what I meant. Indeed I'm fond of everybody in the house from our dear lady down to the poor little dog.”

Here Muller gained another little bit of knowledge, the fact that the lady of the house was the favourite of her servants, or that she seemed to them even more an object of adoration than the master.

”Then you evidently have a very good place, since you seem so fond of every one.”

”Indeed I have a good place, sir.”

”You've had this place a long time?”

”More than twenty years. My master was only eleven years old when I took service with the family.”

”Ah, indeed! then you must be a person of importance in the house if you have been there so long?”

”Well more or less I might say I am,” the old man smiled and looked flattered, then added: ”But the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernaner, is even more important than I am, to tell you the truth. She was nurse to our present young master, and she's been in the house ever since. When his parents died, it's some years ago now, she took entire charge of the housekeeping. She was a fine active woman then, and now the young master and mistress couldn't get along without her. They treat her as if she was one of the family.”

”And she is ill also? I say also,” explained Muller, ”because the landlord has just been telling me that your mistress is ill.”

”Yes, indeed, more's the pity! our poor dear young lady has been miserable for nearly a year now. It's a shame to see such a sweet angel as she is suffer like that and the master's quite heart-broken over it.

But there's nothing the matter with Mrs. Bernaner. How did you come to think that she was sick?”

Muller did not intend to explain that the change in the housekeeper's appearance, a change which had come about between Tuesday morning and Thursday morning, might easily have made any one think that she was ill. He gave as excuse for his question the old man's own words: ”Why, I thought that she might be ill also because you said yourself that the housekeeper--what did you say her name was?”

”Bernauer, Mrs. Adele Bernauer. She was a widow when she came to take care of the master. Her husband was a sergeant of artillery.”

”Well, I mean,” continued Muller, ”you said yourself that when the gentleman's parents died, Mrs. Bernauer was a fine active woman, therefore I supposed she was no longer so.”

Franz thought the matter over for a while. ”I don't know just why I put it that way. Indeed she's still as active as ever and always fresh and well. It's true that for the last two or three days she's been very nervous and since yesterday it is as if she was a changed woman. She must be ill, I don't know how to explain it otherwise.”

”What seems to be the matter with her?” asked Muller and then to explain his interest in the housekeeper's health, he fabricated a story: ”I studied medicine at one time and although I didn't finish my course or get a diploma, I've always had a great interest in such things, and every now and then I'll take a case, particularly nervous diseases. That was my specialty.” Muller took up his gla.s.s and turned away from the window, for he felt a slow flush rising to his cheeks. It was another of Muller's peculiarities that he always felt an inward embarra.s.sment at the lies he was obliged to tell in his profession.

The butler did not seem to have noticed it however, and appeared eager to tell of what concerned him in the housekeeper's appearance and demeanour. ”Why, yesterday at dinner time was the first that we began to notice anything wrong with Mrs. Bernauer. The rest of us, that is, Lizzie the upstairs girl, the cook and myself. She began to eat her dinner with a good appet.i.te, then suddenly, when we got as far as the pudding, she let her fork fall and turned deathly white. She got up without saying a word and left the room. Lizzie ran after her to ask if anything was the matter, but she said no, it was nothing of importance.

After dinner, she went right out, saying she was doing some errands.

She brought in a lot of newspapers, which was quite unusual, for she sometimes does not look at a newspaper once a week even. I wouldn't have noticed it but Lizzie's the kind that sees and hears everything and she told us about it.” Franz stopped to take a drink, and Muller said indifferently, ”I suppose Mrs. Bernauer was interested in the murder case. The whole neighbourhood seems to be aroused about it.”

”No, I don't think that was it,” answered the old servant, ”because then she would have sent for a paper this morning too.”

”And she didn't do that?”

”No, unless she might have gone out for it herself. There's a news stand right next door here. But I don't think she did because I would have seen the paper around the house then.”

”And is that all that's the matter with her?” asked Muller in a tone of disappointment. ”Why, I thought you'd have something really interesting to tell me.”

”Oh, no, that isn't all, sir,” exclaimed the old man eagerly.