Part 24 (1/2)

”And compromising me into the bargain, what? But let me tell you this, my good Leopold, before we go any further, that I am not married to you yet, and that I don't like your airs of proprietors.h.i.+p, _sabe_?”

He could not say anything more just then, for customers were departing, and she had to attend to them; he did not try to approach her while she was thus engaged, but presently, when her back was turned, he contrived to work his way across to the door which gave on the inner room, and to push it slightly open with his hand, until he could peep through the aperture and take a quick survey of the room beyond.

Klara had not seen this manoeuvre of his, although she had cast more than one rapid and furtive glance upon him while she attended to her customers. She was thankful that he was going away for a few days; in his present mood he was positively dangerous.

She had lighted the oil lamp which hung from the centre of the low, raftered ceiling, the hour was getting late, customers were all leaving now one by one.

Eros Bela was one of the last to go.

He had drunk rather more silvorium than was good for him. He knew quite well that by absenting himself from the pre-nuptial festivals he had behaved in a disgraceful and unjustifiable manner which would surely be resented throughout the village, and though he was quite sure that he did not care one bra.s.s filler what all those ignorant peasants thought of him, yet he felt it inc.u.mbent upon him to brace up his courage now, before meeting the hostile fusillade of eyes which would be sure to greet him on his return to the barn.

He meant to put in a short appearance there, and then to finish his evening here in Klara's company. He felt that his dignity demanded that he should absent himself at any rate from the supper, seeing that Elsa had so grossly defied him.

”At ten o'clock I'll be back, Klara,” he whispered, in the girl's ear, as he was about to take his departure along with some of his friends, who also intended to go on to the dance in the barn.

”Indeed you won't,” she retorted decisively, ”I have no use for you, my good Bela. You are almost a married man now, remember!” she added with a laugh.

”I'll bring those bottles of champagne,” he urged; ”don't be hard on me, Klara. I'll give you a good time to-night, and a nice present into the bargain.”

”And ruin my reputation for ever, eh? By walking into the tap-room when it's full of people and carrying two bottles of champagne under your arm--or staying on ostentatiously after everyone has gone and for everyone to gossip. No, thank you; I've already told you that I am not going to lend myself to your little games of vengeance. It isn't me you want, it's petty revenge upon Elsa. To that I say no, thank you, my good man.”

”Klara!” he pleaded.

”No!” she said, and unceremoniously turned her back on him.

He went off, sullen and morose, and not a little chaffed for his moroseness by his friends.

The tap-room was almost deserted for the moment. In one or two corners only a few stragglers lingered; they were sprawling across the tables with arms outstretched. Ignacz Goldstein's silvorium had proved too potent and too plentiful. They lay there in a drunken sleep--logs that were of no account. Presently they would have to be thrown out, but there was no hurry for that--they were not in the way.

Ignacz Goldstein had gone into the next room. Klara was busy tidying up the place; Leopold approached her with well-feigned contrition and humility.

”I am sorry, Klara,” he said. ”I seemed to have had the knack to-night of constantly annoying you. So I'd best begone now, perhaps.”

”I bear no malice, Leo,” she said quietly.

”I thought I'd come back at about nine o'clock,” he continued. ”It is nearly eight now.”

She, thinking that he had his own journey in mind, remarked casually:

”You'd best be here well before nine. The train leaves at nine-twenty, and father walks very slowly.”

”I won't be late,” he said. ”Best give me the key of the back door. I'll let myself in that way.”

”No occasion to do that,” she retorted. ”The front door will be open.

You can come in that way like everybody else.”

”It's just a fancy,” he said quietly; ”there might be a lot of people about just then. I don't want to come through here. I thought I'd just slip in the back way as I often do. So give me the key, Klara, will you?”

”How can I give you the key of the back door?” she said, equally quietly; ”you know father always carries it in his coat pocket.”

”But there is a second key,” he remarked, ”which hangs on a nail by your father's bedside in the next room. Give me that one, Klara.”