It was so dark she could have screamed. She stood behind the table, she saw nothing of him; only the two windows on the left stood out grayly. She heard nothing of him, he always walked so quietly. If only he would come!
Not a sound, not a breath.
If only she could scream, but she couldn’t even breathe!
And then she felt his hand on her breast. No butterfly could have settled more gently on a blossom, yet with a shudder that passed through her whole body she shrank back.… The hand followed her shrinking body, laid itself in coolness over her breast.… She could shrink back no farther.… Coolness penetrated her thin summer dress, her skin, penetrated to her heart.…
Her fear was gone, she no longer felt the hand, only an ever more penetrating coolness.…
And the coolness was peace.
She wanted to think of something, she wanted to say to herself: It is only Hubert, a disgusting ridiculous fellow.… But nothing came of it. The pictures in the book on marriage drifted through her head; for a moment she saw its pages as if in bright lamplight.
Then she heard a melody from downstairs and knew it was her father. Bored with waiting, he had turned on the phonograph.
But the melody seemed to grow fainter and fainter, as if she were losing her strength in the ever-pervasive coolness. Her senses were becoming dulled, she only felt the hand … And now she felt the other … Its fingers fumbled lightly on her neck, they pushed her hair back.
Then the hand glided right round her throat; the thumb rested with a light pressure on her larynx, while the pressure on her heart increased …
She made a quick movement with her head, to free her neck from the hand—in vain, the thumb pressed on it more firmly …
But it was only the servant Hubert—he couldn’t want to choke her … She breathed with difficulty. The blood buzzed in her ears. Her head grew dizzy …
“Hubert!” she wanted to scream.
Then she was free. Struggling for breath, she stared into the darkness, which became light. At the switch stood the servant Rader, irreproachable, not a hair on his head out of place.
Downstairs could be heard the phonograph.
“Thank you very much, Fraulein,” said Rader, as unemotionally as if she had given him a tip. “The letter will be seen to.” It was in his hand again; he must have taken it from the table in the dark.
In the drive outside sounded her mother’s voice, then that of Herr von Studmann.
“Supper will be ready at once, Fraulein,” said Rader, gliding out of the room.
She looked around. It’s her room, unaltered. It was also the old, unchanged, funny servant, Rader—and she hadn’t changed either. A little painfully, as if her limbs had not yet regained their full life, she went to the mirror and looked at her throat. But nothing could be seen of the fiery red marks she had imagined. Not even the slightest reddening of the skin. He had only gripped her very gently, if indeed he had gripped her at all. Perhaps she had only imagined most of it. He was merely a crazy, disgusting fellow; when a little time had passed, so that he wouldn’t think it came from her, she must persuade Papa and Mamma to get another servant.…
Suddenly—she had already washed her face—a feeling of absolute despair came over her, as if everything were lost, as if she had gambled with her life and had lost it.… She saw her Lieutenant Fritz, first passionate and then quite cold, almost nasty to her.… She heard Armgard whispering to her mother that Hubert was a fiend, and the thought darted through her head that perhaps Hubert had also laid his hand on the fat cook’s breast, had encircled her throat—and that that was why she hated him.
Violet regarded herself in the mirror with an almost indifferent curiosity. She looked at her white flesh, she pushed down the neck of her dress. She felt so degraded that she thought the flesh must look sullied. (The same hands that had touched Armgard!) But it was white and healthy.…
“Supper, Vi!” cried her mother from downstairs.
She shook off the tormenting thoughts as a dog shakes off water from its coat. Perhaps all men were like that. All a little disgusting. She just mustn’t think of them.
She ran down the stairs, humming the tune she had heard on the phonograph.
XI
It turned out that Frau Eva and Herr von Studmann had already had supper with the old Teschows. Deeply hurt, the Rittmeister sat at table with his daughter, while the two for whom he had so heroically waited talked quietly in the adjoining room. The door stood open; the Rittmeister, muttering and growling, let slip disjointed sentences about punctuality and consideration for others, and from time to time barked at his daughter, who pleaded she had no appetite. Rader, a napkin under his arm, was the only one who had his approval. With unerring instinct he guessed which dish was wanted; he refilled the beer glass to the second.
“My dear Studmann,” shouted the Rittmeister, having at last distinctly sniffed tobacco smoke, “do me just one favor and don’t smoke, at least while I’m eating!”
“Sorry, Achim, I am smoking!” called his wife.
“So much the worse,” growled the Rittmeister.
At last he jumped up and went in to the others.
“Enjoy your supper?” asked his wife.
“Nice question when I’ve been waiting two hours for you for nothing!” Full of irritation, he poured himself out another vodka. “Listen, Eva,” he said aggressively, “Studmann has to get up at four in the morning. You should have let him go to bed rather than drag him over here. Or are you perhaps going to start on those ridiculous geese again?”
“Violet!” cried Frau Eva. “Come along now, say good night. You can go to bed, it is almost ten. Hubert, lock the doors, you are at liberty now.”
The three were alone. “Quite so, now we’ll start on the ridiculous geese again. You should at least thank your friend von Studmann; without him we shouldn’t need to discuss it, but just pack our bags and go. If it were not for him, it would have been all over with Neulohe.” Frau von Prackwitz spoke more sharply than she had ever yet done to her husband. Six hours of battle with a tearful mother and a crafty father had exhausted her patience.
“That’s fine!” cried the Rittmeister. “I’m to be thankful for being able to stay in Neulohe! What do I care for the place? I’d find a job anywhere better than the one I’ve got here. You don’t know what’s going on in the world. The Army needs officers again!”
“Let us talk calmly,” pleaded Studmann, anxiously observing the approaching storm. “You are probably right, Prackwitz; an officer’s job would suit you best. But with an army only a hundred thousand strong—”
“Ah! you already seem to think you’re a better farmer than I am, eh?”
“If,” said Frau von Prackwitz heatedly, “you care so little about Neulohe, then perhaps you’ll agree to our suggestion that you should go away for a few weeks.”
“Please, Prackwitz. Please, Frau von Prackwitz.”
“I go away!” shouted the Rittmeister. “Never! I’m staying.” And he sat down in haste, as if the two might even dispute his right to a chair. He glowered at them.
“It is unfortunately a fact,” said Studmann quietly, “that your parents-in-law are both at the moment filled with a strong prejudice against you. Your father-in-law has only one desire: to annul the lease.”
“Then let him annul it, damn him! He’ll never find another fool like me to give him three thousand hundredweights of rye as rent. Fool!”
“Since it’s impossible to keep a family today on a captain’s pension …”
“Why impossible? Thousands do it!”
“… and since the farm offers a certain basis of livelihood …”
“You were saying just the opposite this morning!”
“If the lessor is well disposed,” interjected Frau Eva. “Which your father never was in his life, my dear.”
“… your wife agreed to manage the farm alone for the next few weeks while you travel for a bit. Until your parents-in-law have calmed down sufficiently to be approached again, that is.”
“She agreed, did she?” mocked the Rittmeister bitterly. “Without asking me. Not necessary, I suppose. You
