Felix Lanzberg's Expiation Part 14

"No; I must show her from the first that I am in no hurry to a.s.sociate with her," says the Countess.

"Hm!" says Scirocco, his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed upon the ceiling. "Do you not think, Mimi, that as quite a near relation of Lanzberg it would be the thing for you to smooth the way a little for his wife? It would be an act of Christian charity."

"The matter is very complicated, Rudi," replied Mimi Dey. "I was always very sorry for Felix--you know I decidedly took his part. I have nothing against his wife; her manner is indeed deplorable, but on the whole, if some little poverty-stricken Sempaly or Dey had married her, I should have been the last to withdraw my protection from her. In Felix's unfortunate circ.u.mstances, he has proved by his marriage that he no longer belongs to his caste; he has abdicated, _voila_."

Rhoeden and Pistasch have finished their game of bezique, and now devote themselves to the building of interesting card-houses. They spice this intelligent occupation by considerable wagers, which he shall win whose card-house remains standing the longest. Up to now Rhoeden has had the advantage. But the Countess's words seem to have excited him a very little--his card-houses no longer stand.

Scirocco bites his lips, every finger quivers--how can he counsel his sister to silence or at least consideration? In vain he turns his back to Rhoeden, so as to make an impression upon her by energetic scowling.

Soon he notices, like many subtle diplomats, that he has navely exposed himself to the enemy. His energetic play of expression beams at him from a mirror in which the attentively watching Rhoeden could certainly solve the interesting riddle--but it wholly escapes his short-sighted sister.

"As she, nevertheless, must be invited, it would perhaps be better to fix the day," cries Scirocco, somewhat impatiently.

"It cannot be this week," answers the Countess, counting over the days.

"Thursday, Friday and Sat.u.r.day are the days of the fair for the flooded people in Marienbad; Sunday, the ladies of the committee dine at the M----'s, Monday there are private theatricals at the M----'s, Thursday, the L----'s dine with me----"

"Well, invite them for Thursday," cries Scirocco. "She is really very nice, sings chansonettes like Judic; she will amuse you greatly."

"Do you think so?" cries the Countess. "Before Felix was married, L---- would hardly bow to him, how will it be now? No, Wednesday.

Wednesday will be the best, but still I cannot exactly invite her _en famille_."

"Hardly," says Scirocco, dryly.

"And whom can I ask to meet her? One has an antipathy to Felix, others to her----" the Countess laughs lightly and kindles a fresh cigarette.

"One must be so careful--it would be very disagreeable for me if toward evening some one should accidentally come over from Marienbad, and should meet her here."

"Have a warning fastened over the door as when one has small-pox in the house," laughs Pistasch.

"Invite the Garzins," proposes Scirocco.

"Yes, that is something, but a strange element is still desirable,"

remarks the Countess. "What do you say to the Klette?"

Scirocco frowns. "I do not understand how respectable people can tolerate this poisonous old gossiping viper under their roofs," he answers, angrily.

"Neither do I," replies Mimi Dey, obligingly, "but still every one does."

"I make you another proposition, Mimi," cries Pistasch: "Invite old Harfink by telegram; I think he will come by special train."

The Countess smiled. "I should certainly do it," remarks she, "but I believe the Lanzberg would look upon it as a mortal insult. Besides, when did you make his acquaintance?"

"I met him once on the train, and thereupon he invited me to dinner,"

explains Pistasch.

"And you accepted?" asks the Countess, raising her eyebrows.

"Why of course--I thought I should amuse myself as well as at the Carl Theatre. Yes--that was what I fancied. What a disappointment! The dinner was not bad, perfectly correct, alas! The wife spoke of nothing but the evils of the social question. I did not know where to look, and the husband spoke of nothing but the evils of his stomach. Except for that, they were both very charming, on my word. Paid me compliments to my face with a _sans gene_. Bah! I was never very kindly disposed to Felix, but I pity him on account of this match. For my part I should rather marry into a Hottentot family than such people."

I do not believe that during this speech Eugene Rhoeden felt exactly upon roses.

There are _parvenus_ who listen in society to such speeches with self-satisfied indifference; yes, even laugh at them, and applying the English proverb, "Present company always excepted," to their own case, fancy themselves unreferred to. But Rhoeden does not belong to these enviable ones.

He smiles slightly to himself, and after the conversation had continued for some time in a similar manner he begins:

"There was once a French poet named Voltaire, and once when he went to London the street boys laughed at him, and sang mocking songs about Frenchmen. Then the poet turned round and said: 'You good people, is it not hard enough not to have been born among you? Really, you should pity us, not despise us!'"

After this little anecdote a universal silence followed, then Scirocco cried, "Bravo, Rhoeden!"

The good-natured Countess Dey blushed and said:

"We had entirely forgotten that you are related to these people," which sounds like a _betise_, but is balm for Eugene's vanity. Pistasch, however, puts on an irritated expression, and cries with his colossal impertinence, "I pity you uncommonly!"

Half an hour later the Countess is conferring in her dressing-room with her maid concerning her costume for to-morrow, and Pistasch has seated himself in a bad temper at the piano, where with his handsome, unpractised hands he thumps out the march from Norma, the only achievement of a ten years' study of music.

Scirocco and Rhoeden stand below on the rain-wet terrace. "Your cigar bores me," cries Scirocco, "throw it away and fill your lungs with pure air," and he draws a deep breath so as to enjoy the fragrance of the summer evening after the rain.

Eugene does as he is invited, and then asks, "Do you not admire my compliance?"

"You are a good fellow; one can get along with you," answers Scirocco in his abrupt manner.

"Thanks for the acknowledgment," says Rhoeden, not without bitterness.

"Sometimes I ask myself whether it would not be better and more sensible for me to pack my trunk."

"Don't see the necessity," growls Scirocco.

"I am really not sure," says Rhoeden; "for between ourselves it is pleasanter to hear Pistasch make fun of my uncle than to hear my uncle rave over Pistasch when the latter has accidentally met him and said: 'Ah! good day, Mr.---- what is your name--Mr. Harfink?'"

"Curious world!" murmurs Scirocco, smiling to himself.

Rhoeden, seeing him in a particularly good temper, makes use of the opportunity to ask him:

"Say, what is the story about Lanzberg?"

Scirocco is silent for a while; looks apparently absently before him, and then suddenly cries brusquely, "What did you ask?"

"Whether you think we will have fine weather to-morrow," replies Rhoeden.

Scirocco glances at him peculiarly with a half smile, behind which the words "Clever dog" may be read.

That evening Eugene writes in the diary in which, instead of sentimental impressions, he notes down all freshly-acquired worldly wisdom:

"Never ask society, except concerning things which you already know."

XIV.

Klette was invited after all, or rather invited herself. At the fair in Marienbad she met Mimi Dey, and upon the latter remarking carelessly: "How are you, Caroline; when are we to see you in Iwanow?" a.s.sured her generously, "I am at your service as soon as you send the horses for me. I have been intending to spend a few days with you."