Part 22 (1/2)
”Ssh--not so loud,” said the latter. ”It's a secret, a dead secret--though I'm sure I don't know why. Franz----”
At this very moment, Franz himself came into the kitchen. He looked distrustfully at his whispering mother.
”Now then, mother, haven't you got that beer yet?” he demanded. His genial bonhomie disappeared, as if by magic, when he entered his home circle, and he was particularly gruff with this adoring woman.
”GLEICH, FRANZCHEN, GLEICH,” she answered soothingly, and whisked about her work again, with the air of one caught napping.
Maurice followed Furst's invitation to join the rest of the party.
The folding-doors between the ”best room” and the adjoining bedroom had been opened wide, and the guests were distributed over the two rooms.
The former was brilliantly lighted by three lamps and two candles, and all the sitting-accommodation the house contained was ranged in a semicircle round the grand piano. Here, not a place was vacant; those who had come late were in the bedroom, making s.h.i.+ft with whatever offered. Two girls and a young man, having pushed back the feather-bed, sat on the edge of the low wooden bedstead, with their arms interlaced to give them a better balance. Maurice found Madeleine on a rickety little sofa that stood at the foot of the bed. Dove sat on a chest of drawers next the sofa, his long legs dangling in the air. Beside Madeleine, with his head on her shoulder, was Krafft.
”Oh, there you are,” cried Madeleine. ”Well, I did my best to keep the place for you; but it was of no use, as you see. Just sit down, however. Between us, we'll squeeze him properly.”
Maurice was glad that the room, which was lighted only by one small lamp, was in semi-darkness; for, at the sound of his own voice, it suddenly became clear to him that the piece of gossip Frau Furst had volunteered, had been of the nature of a blow. Schilsky's departure threatened, in a way he postponed for the present thinking out, to disturb his life; and, in an abrupt need of sympathy, he laid his hand on Krafft's knee.
”Is it you, old man? What have you been doing with yourself?”
Krafft gave him one of those looks which, in the early days of their acquaintance, had proved so disconcerting--a look of struggling recollection.
”Oh, nothing in particular,” he replied, without hostility, but also without warmth. His mind was not with his words, and Maurice withdrew his hand.
Madeleine leaned forward, dislodging Krafft's head from its resting-place.
”How long have you two been 'DU' to each other?” she asked, and at Maurice's curt reply, she pushed Krafft from her. ”Sit up and behave yourself. One would think you had an evil spirit in you to-night.”
Krafft was nervously excited: bright red spots burnt on his cheeks, his hands twitched, and he jerked forward in his seat and threw himself back again, incessantly.
”No, you are worse than a mosquito,” cried Madeleine, losing patience.
”Anyone would think you were going to play yourself. And he will be as cool as an iceberg. The sofa won't stand it, Heinz. If you can't stop fidgeting, get up.”
He had gone, before she finished speaking; for a slight stir in the next room made them suppose for a moment that Schilsky was arriving.
Afterwards, Krafft was to be seen straying about, with his hands in his pockets; and, on observing his rose-pink cheeks and tumbled curly hair, Madeleine could not refrain from remarking: ”He ought to have been a girl.”
The air was already hot, by reason of the lamps, and the many breaths, and the firmly shut double-windows. The clamour for beer had become universal by the time Adolfchen arrived with his arms full of bottles.
As there were not enough gla.s.ses to go round, every two or three persons shared one between them--a proceeding that was carried out with much noisy mirth. Above all other voices was to be heard that of Miss Jensen, who, in a speckled yellow dress, with a large feather fan in her hand, sat in the middle of the front row of seats. It was she who directed how the beer should be apportioned; she advised a few late-comers where they would still find room, and engaged Furst to place the lights on the piano to better advantage. Next her, a Mrs.
Lautenschlager, a plump little American lady, with straight yellow hair which hung down on her shoulders, was relating to her neighbour on the other side, in a tone that could be clearly heard in both rooms, how she had ”discovered” her voice.
”I come to Schwarz, last fall,” she said shaking back her hair, and making effective use of her babyish mouth; ”and he thinks no end of me.
But the other week I was sick, and as I lay in bed, I sung some--just for fun. And my landlady--she's a regular singer herself--who was fixing up the room, she claps her hands together and says: 'My goodness me! Why YOU have a voice!' That's what put it in my head, and I went to Sperling to hear what he'd got to say. He was just tickled to death, I guess he was, and he's going to make something dandy of it, so I stop long enough. I don't know what my husband'll say though. When I wrote him I was sick, he says: 'Come home and be sick at home'--that's what he says.”
Miss Jensen could not let pa.s.s the opportunity of breaking a lance for her own master, the Swede, and of cutting up Sperling's method, which she denounced as antiquated. She made quite a little speech, in the course of which she now and then interrupted herself to remind Furst--who, was as soft as a pudding before her--of something he had forgotten to do, such as snuffing the candles or closing the door.
”Just let me hear your scale, will you?” she said patronisingly to Mrs.
Lautenschlager. The latter, nothing loath, stuck out her chin, opened her mouth, and, for a short time, all other noises were drowned in a fine, full volume of voice.
On their sofa, Madeleine and Maurlee sat in silence, pretending to listen to Dove, who was narrating his journey. Madeleine was out of humour; she tapped the floor, and had a crease in her forehead. As for Maurice, he was in such poor spirits that she could not but observe it.