Meienburg and Frankfurt, too.”
“I just thought whether one of our carriages could also fetch her luggage,” explained Kowalewski.
“Ah, that’s what you thought! You’re a mighty fine cock, overseer, talking about ‘our’ carriages.”
The overseer was not discouraged. He had experienced generations of bailiffs, and this one was perhaps the worst of the lot. But a poor man had to beg a hundred times before one of the powerful said “Yes” for a change; and sometimes little Meier was quite different. He was like that; he liked to have his little joke; one ought not to blame him for it.
“It’s only because of her box, bailiff,” he begged. “Sophie doesn’t mind walking at all; she likes walking.”
“But she likes to lie down on her back still better, eh, Kowalewski?” grinned Meier.
Not a muscle of the old man’s face twitched. “Perhaps a farmer will be going to the station,” he meditated, half-aloud.
Meier, however, was satisfied. He had vented a bit of his rage, he had felt not altogether without power. “Well, clear out, Kowalewski,” he said graciously. “The harvesters and the Rittmeister are arriving by the ten-o’clock train. There’ll be room for your little Sophie. Hop it, you stinking old crow,” he shouted, and with a muttered “Very many thanks” and “Good evening,” the overseer retreated.
Black Meier was alone again with his thoughts. “If only I could at least sleep …” he growled to himself, his ill-temper returning. “Any damned fool can sleep when he’s drunk as much as I have, but not me; I never have any luck, of course.”
But perhaps he had not drunk enough. In the inn he had been quite tight; the trouble was, it had blown off by now. He could go back again, but he was too lazy for that. Besides, he would have to pay for all he had had there, and he shuddered at the thought of the reckoning. Well, Amanda was sure to put in an appearance this evening, and she could go and fetch him a bottle of schnapps. It would give her something to do; he couldn’t bear the thought of women today. If Vi hadn’t made such an exhibition of herself, he wouldn’t have behaved so stupidly. But that sort of thing was enough to drive a man mad.
Meier lurched from his soiled, damp bed and stumbled round the room. He had remembered that the forester had told him to pack and get away as soon as possible.
His boxes lay on top of the wardrobe. He had two small suitcases, a cheap dilapidated one of fabric-covered cardboard and a smart leather case which he had taken away with him on leaving his last job—it had only been standing about doing nothing in a loft. Meier squinted up at this suitcase; the cheapness of its acquisition always pleased him.
When you look at a suitcase you think of traveling. And when you think of traveling the money for the fare occurs to you. Thus it was that, without having looked through the half-open office door, Meier had a vision of the safe, bulky and painted green, the gilded decorations of which had become a dirty yellow with the years.
Usually the Rittmeister kept the key and only on pay days or for some special expenditure would fetch from it the necessary money. Meier was, of course, utterly reliable in money matters, but the Rittmeister was a great man and mistrustful! It would serve him right if he came a real cropper through his suspicions.
The bailiff pushed the office door open with his shoulder and planted himself thoughtfully in front of the safe. Yesterday evening the Rittmeister had checked the amount in hand twice over—the safe held quite a handsome packet of money, more than Bailiff Meier could earn in three years. Lost in thought, he fingered the key in his pocket. But he didn’t take it out. He didn’t unlock the safe. No, I’m not such a fool as all that, he thought.
Whatever he did was always on the safe side; he might possibly be sacked, but he couldn’t be jailed for it. To get the sack didn’t matter. One always got a new job after a while; an employer never stated in his testimonial the real reason for dismissal. But Meier had a lively aversion to jail.
I’d only squander the money in a week or two, he told himself. Then I’d be broke and couldn’t get another job, because they were looking for me. No, certainly not.
Nevertheless he stayed before the safe for a long time; it fascinated him. A way out of the dirt, he thought. They don’t catch everybody, by a long way. They say you can get false papers quite cheaply in Berlin. I would only like to know where. How long will it take before the Lieutenant learns that I haven’t delivered the letter? Well, tonight those two are going to miss each other. You’ll have to go to bed hungry, dear Vi. Meier grinned with malice.
There was another knock, and he jumped away from the safe and leaned negligently against the wall before calling out: “Come in,” this time politely. But all his trouble was unnecessary; once again it was no one of any consequence—only the charwoman, the coachman’s wife with the seven urchins, Frau Hartig.
“Your supper, Herr Meier.”
Meier did not want her to see the soiled bed in the next room (Amanda could tidy it up a bit later); he was in no mood for a dust-up now. “Put it on the desk,” he said. “What is it?”
“I don’t know why the women think so much of you,” said Frau Hartig, taking the lid off the dish. “Now Armgard is starting, too.… A roast and red cabbage in the evening for a bailiff.…”
“Rot,” said Meier. “I’d have preferred a herring. Whoa! Look at the fat! To tell the truth, I’ve had a drop too much.”
“I can see that,” confirmed Frau Hartig. “Why can’t you men lay off the booze? Supposing women did the same! Was Amanda with you?”
“What next! I don’t need her for boozing.” He laughed, suddenly quite lively and in high spirits. “What about it, Hartig? Would you like the grub? I can’t eat tonight.”
Frau Hartig beamed. “My old man’ll be pleased. If I quickly cook a few potatoes to go with it, it’ll be sufficient for us both.”
“No,” drawled Meier by the wall. “That’s for you, Hartig, not for your old man. Do you think I want him to get strong on it? You’re crazy. No, if you want the food you must eat it here. On the spot!” He looked hard at her.
“Here?” she asked, returning his stare.
Their voices had changed, become almost soft.
“Here!” answered Black Meier.
“Then,” said Frau Hartig in even lower tones, “I’ll close the windows and draw the curtains. If somebody saw me eating here …”
Meier didn’t answer, but he followed her with his eyes as she closed the two windows and carefully drew the curtains. “Lock the door as well,” he added softly.
She looked at him, then she did so. She sat down in front of the tray on the desk. “Well, it’ll taste good to me,” she said with simulated vivacity.
Again he did not reply. He watched her as she put the meat on the plate, then the potatoes, then the red cabbage. Now she ladled gravy over it all.…
“Hartig, listen,” he said quietly.
“What is it?” she asked without looking up, apparently only concerned with her food.
“Yes, what was I going to say?” he drawled. “Yes, where do you button up your blouse—in front or at the back?”
“In front,” she whispered, starting to cut the meat. “Do you want to have a look?”
“Yes,” said he, adding impatiently, “well, get on.”
“You must do it yourself,” she replied. “Or else my food will get cold. Ah you … ah.… Yes, darling … such good food … yes … yes.…”
III
Violet von Prackwitz was having supper with her mother. The manservant stood stiffly by the sideboard. Rader, although not much over twenty, was of the “serious servant” type. He was obsessed by the notion that his employers would one day move out of their jerry-built place into the old people’s mansion, where he would no longer be the manservant but the butler. Therefore, in spite of his faultless demeanor, he regarded the old Geheimrat and his wife as people who withheld from his master and mistress something which by right belonged to them. Most of all, however, he hated old Elias, who lorded it over the silver at the Manor. How could anyone bear to have a name like Elias, anyway! His own Christian name was Hubert, and his employers called him by it.
Hubert had one eye on the table, in case they needed anything, and both ears on the conversation. Although he did not move one muscle of his somewhat lined face he was filled with glee at the way in which the young Fraulein was duping her mother. For, as Hubert had little to do, what with Armgard the cook and Lotte the servant,
