Part 9 (1/2)

All was quiet--quiet as death. Oswald might have imagined that his fancy had played him a trick.

”What was the matter?” asked Berger, when Oswald joined him again.

”Did you not see the fire!”

”It was a will-o'-the-wisp in the swamp,” replied Berger. ”Let us go on.”

CHAPTER VIII.

It was completely dark when the two wanderers left the last spur of the mountain, and reached the first houses of the village. Oswald, who was for the first time in this region, and whose sense of locality was not strongly developed, had of course allowed himself to be entirely guided by Berger, and had expected that the latter would return by the nearest road to Doctor Birkenhain's asylum. He was, therefore, not a little surprised when he found out that they were approaching the town from the opposite direction. There were the huge wagons laden with bales, there was the wide court-yard with its hospitably open gates, there was the green lamp burning in dismal dimness over the door of the house, and casting a mournful light upon one-half of the leaden hat which had once shone in all the splendor of oil-paint, but which had since pa.s.sed through many a storm, losing its youthful freshness under the action of wind and weather and rain. There they heard in the low room to the right of the hall, with its four tiny windows and its dim light, the clinking of gla.s.ses, as thirsty guests knocked them impatiently against each other, and the concentrated noise of some twenty male voices, which were by no means delicate, and yet insisted upon being all heard at once.

It would scarcely have needed all these unmistakable signs to convince Oswald that he was near the hospitable roof of the Green Hat.

The sudden meeting with the gypsies in the forest had reminded him most forcibly of this whole affair, which Berger's recital had nearly driven from his mind.

He should have liked much to consult Berger in this matter, as the latter had in former times given him frequent opportunities to admire his skill in unravelling intricate situations and problematic characters; but he was loth to trouble a mind which was constantly seeking the truth in the mysterious depths of mysticism, with stories in which Director Schmenckel was playing the most prominent part.

What was his amazement, therefore, when Berger suddenly stopped at the door of the Green Hat, and said:

”I am thirsty; let us go in here for a moment!”

”Here?” inquired Oswald, who shrank from the idea of introducing the dreamy, delicate man, with his horror of the mere odor of tobacco, to such vulgar society. ”The company in there is hardly suitable.”

”What does that matter?” replied Berger. ”Are they not the children of men?”

With these words he entered through the open house-door into the halls where yesterday the enthusiastic admirers of art had fought their battle royal with their adversaries, and through the door of the room which was also open into the coffee-room.

The appearance of the latter was nearly the same as on the previous day, before and after the fight, only that the table at which the artists had their seats was to-day much less sought after by the other guests. The glory of artists is apt to fade quickly in the eyes of men who still feel the smarting of the blows which they have received a day before on account of this very glory, and who are prosaic enough to recollect the number of gla.s.ses of beer which the artists have drunk at their expense, solely for the purpose of not interfering with the general good-temper of the company. Thus it came about that many who, in their enthusiasm for art, had utterly forgotten their old friends in the blue overalls and the heavy shoes, to-night joined them once more, and granted to new comers the privilege of listening to Director Schmenckel's long stories, and of paying his long bills.

Mr. Schmenckel was far too great a philosopher to lose his good humor and his temper on account of this insulting desertion by his friends.

His fat face shone as bright as ever--it was redder than usual, even, because its original color appeared still richer and more intense in contrast with a few patches of black which had become indispensable in consequence of his fight with Mamselle Adele. His swollen eyelids winked at everybody as cunningly as ever, his linen was perhaps a shade less white, but the suspenders had not lost a line of their width, and none of the embroidered roses seemed to have suffered in the least.

And as rosy as this indispensable part of his wardrobe, was also the temper of the man whose broad bosom it adorned.

”How do you like the beer, Cotterby?” he said, laying his broad hand upon the shoulder of the man of the pyramids.

”Sour!” was the laconic reply; for the hero had received but meagre applause to-day, since the genius in the oak-tree had not been there to hallow his flight.

”Pshaw!” said Mr. Schmenckel, ”you are spoilt, Cotterby. It is of course not as good as you drink it in Egypt, but nevertheless it is good, very good indeed. Your health gentlemen.”

The director put the gla.s.s to his lips, but only swallowed a moderate quant.i.ty, a circ.u.mstance which might have convinced the impartial observer of the correctness of the judgment of the Flying Pigeon, whose beer had not been paid for to-night by enthusiastic admirers of art.

At that moment Berger and Oswald entered the room and approached a table at which the artists sat, because it had some vacant seats. Mr.

Schmenckel's observant eye had scarcely seen the new comers--whom he recognized instantly as the insane young count of the day before, and an old gray-bearded fellow of curious appearance whom the count had picked up for his amus.e.m.e.nt after the escape of the gypsies--when he rose from his seat, went up to Oswald, bowed low before him, and said, with a voice which he intended should be distinctly heard all over the room,

”Ah, your excellency, count, that is nice in you, that you come to call upon a poor artist in his lowly inn. Sit down here by the side of Director Schmenckel! Move on a little, Cotterby! That's it! Now, gentlemen, take your seats; delighted to make your acquaintance, old fellow, much honor. Two fresh gla.s.ses of beer for the gentlemen, and one for Director Schmenckel! Empty your gla.s.s, Cotterby! So, now bring four gla.s.ses! Who would have thought that we should have such excellent company to-night?” and Mr. Schmenckel rubbed his hands with delight as Oswald and Berger took seats in his immediate neighborhood.

”Well, here is the beer--fresh from the cask, my angel--well, all the better! Here gentlemen! Your health, count, and your health also, old man! Ah! that was the first mouthful I have relished this evening. Odd!

is it not? Bad company spoils good beer; good company makes bad beer good! Am a lover of sociability, count. See that you are another. Will you have the kindness to introduce me to the old gentleman? Director Schmenckel likes to know with whom he has to do.”