gambles. When he has been cleaned out he borrows about two thousand gold marks from a young man and loses that, too. The young man becomes Herr Mirror’s employee. He is very decent, he never says a word about the money, although he probably needs money very badly, for his cigarettes get worse every day, Prackwitz. Then Herr Mirror kicks the young man out and complains at having to pay him.”
“But he laughed at me, Studmann! Take your damn mirror away.”
“Herr Mirror,” continued Studmann pitilessly, keeping the mirror in front of the Rittmeister’s face despite his attempts to avoid it, “Herr Mirror engages men in Berlin. He expressly tells the agent: ‘Doesn’t matter what they look like, doesn’t matter what they know’! But when Herr Mirror sees the men he gets a shock, and rightly. But instead of trying to come to some settlement with the agent, Herr Mirror avoids the dispute, flies from the enemy, afraid of an open combat—”
“Studmann!”
“And then blames the whole world, with the exception of himself, because he has to pay.”
“I’m not blaming you, Studmann. I’m only asking you: Where am I to get the money from?”
“But these are trifles,” said Studmann, laying down the mirror. “The important thing, the unpleasant thing, comes now.”
“Good Lord, Studmann. No, not now, please. I’ve had enough irritation for one morning. Besides, the men will be here at any moment.”
“The men can …” said Herr von Studmann violently. “You’ve got to listen now, Prackwitz. It’s no use your trying to get out of it; you can’t run around in the world like a blind chicken.” He went to the window. “Oh, Frau von Prackwitz, could you come in for a moment?”
Frau von Prackwitz looked doubtfully at Vi, then at Studmann. “Is it so important?”
“My wife isn’t needed here,” protested the Rittmeister. “She doesn’t understand a thing about business.”
“She understands more than you,” Studmann whispered back. “Pagel! Look after the young Fraulein for a bit. Fine. Come along, Frau von Prackwitz.”
A little reluctantly, Frau von Prackwitz stepped toward the office. From the threshold she looked back at the two young people.
“Where would the young Fraulein like to go?” asked Pagel.
“Oh, just up and down in front of the windows.”
Frau von Prackwitz entered the office.
III
“Would you perhaps like to see the huge cooking arrangements in the Manor?” asked Pagel. “There’s terrific activity there now.”
“I’ve got to go there with Mamma afterwards. Who is doing the cooking?”
“Fraulein Backs and Fraulein Kowalewski.”
“I can understand Amanda doing it. But I should have thought Sophie considered herself a cut above cooking for convicts!”
“Everyone likes to earn a little money nowadays.”
“You don’t seem to, if you run around here smoking during working hours,” snapped Violet.
“Does my cigarette disturb you?” asked Pagel, taking it out of his mouth.
“Not at all. I like smoking myself. When the people in the office have forgotten us, we can sneak away into the park for a bit. Then you can give me one.”
“We can go straight away. Or do you think your mother considers me too dangerous to be allowed to walk in the park with you?”
“You dangerous!” Vi laughed. “No, but, you see, I’m supposed to be confined to my room.”
“You are allowed to go only with your Mamma, then?”
“How clever you are!” she cried mockingly. “For three weeks the whole district has been talking about my being confined to my room, and now you’ve noticed it, too.”
But her irritation made no impression on him. He smiled cheerfully. “May one inquire why you are confined to your room? Was it for something very bad?”
“Don’t be indiscreet!” she said very pertly. “A gentleman is never indiscreet.”
“I suppose I shall never be a gentleman, Fraulein,” confessed Pagel sadly, feeling his breast pocket with a secret smile. “But if you think the people in the office are talking loud enough, we might steal into the park and smoke a cigarette.”
“Wait.” She listened. Studmann’s voice could be heard, calm but very emphatic. Then the Rittmeister was plaintively protesting against something—and now Frau von Prackwitz was saying a great deal, very determined, very clear. “Mamma’s off, let’s go!”
They walked along the broad path between the lawns into the park.
“They can’t see us now. Now you can give me a cigarette.… Heavens, this is a wonderful brand you smoke. How much do they cost?”
“Some millions, I can’t remember; it changes every day. Anyway I get them from a friend, a certain Herr von Zecke who lives in Haidar-Pascha. Do you know where Haidar-Pascha is?”
“How should I know? I’m not training to be a teacher of kids!”
“No, of course not. I’m sorry.… Haidar-Pascha is on the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus.”
“Heavens, Herr Pagel, stop talking such rubbish! Why do you keep grinning like that? Whenever I look at you, you’re grinning.”
“It’s a war injury, Fraulein. Injury of the nervus sympathicus in its central canal. You know, just as shell- shock cases shake, so I grin.”
“Are you trying to pull my leg?” she cried indignantly. “I won’t have it.”
“But, Fraulein, word of honor, it’s a war injury. When I cry it looks as if I were laughing tears—it has got me into the most unpleasant situations.”
“One doesn’t know where one is with you,” she declared, dissatisfied. “Men like you are simply horrible.”
“That makes me harmless; that’s an advantage, Fraulein.”
“Yes, I don’t doubt it!” she said scornfully. “I’d really like to know how you would go about it if …”
“Go about what? Go on, say it! Or are you afraid?”
“Afraid of you? Don’t be ridiculous! I was wondering how you’d look if you wanted to give a girl a kiss.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” confessed Pagel miserably. “To tell you the truth, Fraulein, I’ve thought about it thousands of times, but I’m so shy, and then …”
“What!” Vi gave him a superior look. “You’ve never yet given a girl a kiss?”
“I’ve intended to hundreds of times, Fraulein, word of honor! But at the decisive moment my courage …”
“How old are you?”
“Nearly twenty-four.”
“And you’ve never yet kissed a girl?”
“I’m telling you, Fraulein, my shyness …”
“Coward!” she cried with the deepest contempt. And for a while they walked in silence down the avenue of tall lime trees which led to the pond.
“Fraulein, may I ask you something?”
Ungraciously: “Well, what is it?—hero!”
“But you mustn’t be angry with me.”
“What is the question?”
“Sure you won’t?”
Very impatiently: “No! What’s the question?”
“Well—how old are you, Fraulein?”
“You idiot! Sixteen.”
“You see, you are angry—and I’m just beginning my questions.”
Stamping her foot: “Well, get on with them—you weakling!”
