“Of course not, and you’re quite right,” agreed Studmann hastily. “So long as one is young one regards Youth as a misfortune. Only later does one discover that Youth is happiness. Well, how about it? Are we coming with you?”
“You won’t prevent me from doing what I want to do?”
“No, of course not. You must behave as if we aren’t present.”
“And the Rittmeister agrees?”
Rittmeister von Prackwitz muttered something, but it was enough for Pagel.
“All right, come with me if you like.” He cheered up a little. “It might perhaps interest you. It’s—well, you’ll see. Let’s go by taxi.”
They set off.
Chapter Seven
I
Amanda Backs stood panting among the bushes.
“Well, Herr Meier, what a strange voice you’ve got. You’re bleating like a woman,” squeaked the Geheimrat in his thin old voice.
Black Meier’s head popped out of the window. “Herr Geheimrat,” he explained, “that’s only because I was awakened suddenly. When I’m asleep I’ve always got a high-pitched voice.”
“It’s all the same to me,” said the old man. “I only hope, when you get married, your wife believes in this high-pitched voice! I’ve got a letter here, Herr Meier.”
“Very good, Herr Geheimrat, I’ll deliver it.”
“Now don’t be in such a hurry, young man. You shall get back to your bed in a minute. This letter is for my son-in-law.”
“Certainly, Herr Geheimrat. I’ll give it to him tomorrow morning as soon as he arrives from the station.”
“No, that won’t do. His wife will be present. This is a business matter, you understand?”
“Yes, Herr Geheimrat. So I’ll give it to him …”
“Wait a moment, young man. Never mind about the bed creaking. I expect it’s getting bored, eh?”
“Yes, Herr Geheimrat.”
“Well now! And you won’t catch a cold at the open window; you’re used to draughts. By the way, do you always sleep without a nightshirt?”
“Herr Geheimrat, I …”
“Better stick to ‘Yes, Herr Geheimrat’—that’s safer, isn’t it? You think I can’t see in the dark. I can see as well as an old tom-cat.”
“It was so hot, Herr Geheimrat—you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course I’ll excuse you, my son. I quite understand that you’re feeling hot, not having brought in the crops and having a drop too much afterwards—yes, you’d certainly feel hot.”
“Herr Geheimrat!”
“Well, what can I do for you? Do you know, my son, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll get Elias to take the letter. I’m inclined to think you’ll have too much on your mind tomorrow.”
“Herr Geheimrat!” (Pleadingly.)
“Well, good night, Herr Meier, and do put on a nightshirt. I believe I saw Amanda in the park.”
The old man shuffled off. In the bushes, her heart thudding, stood Amanda. She had always known that her Hans was not worth much and was always running after every skirt; but she had thought that she could keep him straight if she was always there when he needed her.… But, nothing doing, no such luck!
Little Meier still leaned out of the window. Once more he had pleaded “Herr Geheimrat!” as if the old man could be of any help, and as if having the letter entrusted to him would have altered anything.… From where she stood Amanda could plainly see him hanging out of the window. He was so stupid. Why did she always take up with such silly, spineless fellows who were no good at all? She didn’t understand it. It made her miserable.
And now the female in his room started to whisper.
Hans turned his head round and said roughly: “Shut up!” That rather pleased Amanda; his insolence to the other woman showed that he could not care very much for her. He would not have dared to talk to herself like that; she would have boxed his ears. She would very much like to know who the other woman was, however. It was no one from the Manor; they had all been at the prayer meeting.
“For Heaven’s sake dress quickly,” she heard Hans say. “If Amanda comes there’ll be the hell of a row. That would just about finish it.”
Amanda almost burst out laughing. He was as silly as ever. The row was waiting outside his very window, but he’d noticed nothing. Hans was always wise after the event. But she would like to have had a few words with the female—everyone in the village, not to mention the people on the estate, knew by now that she went herself with Meier.
The woman inside did seem to be in a hurry—Amanda heard her moving about. Now her head was beside his.
“Shut the window and switch the light on. I can’t find my things,” she grumbled.
Who could it be? One couldn’t recognize a whisper like that.
“Hush!” said Meier, so loudly and roughly that even Amanda started. “Can’t you keep your trap shut? If I turn on the light they’ll think I’m awake.”
“Who’ll think that? Your Amanda?”
Was it the Hartig woman? That would be the limit. The coachman’s wife with her eight children stealing a girl’s young man! If so, she’d be in for it.
“That’s none of your business. You’ve got to hurry up!”
“But my things …”
“I’m not turning on the light. You must manage the best way you can.”
Complaining, the second head vanished from the window. Amanda was now almost certain that it was Frau Hartig. But almost certain is not quite sure. Amanda was in no hurry; she could catch Hans at any time. Now she had to intercept the woman first. Even if she stood there all night, she must get her. She would have to come out through the door or the window—one must be patient!
It was strange that, although Amanda had grown so angry in the prayer meeting, now when there was much more cause for it she couldn’t feel really angry. Least of all with Hans. He was a fool and remained a fool, and if she didn’t look after him he would do stupid things. Neither was she furious with the woman. Indeed, she was surprised at herself. But perhaps she would be furious when she knew who it was and had had a talk with her. Amanda hoped to be in good form. The woman was not to imagine that she could annex someone who by rights belonged to another.
So she waited patiently or impatiently, according to her thoughts from one moment to another, until—and not without relief—she at last saw the visitor climbing out of the window. The relief was derived from the fact that this proved that Hans could not care much about the woman; she had no power over him if he was too lazy to unlock the front door for her. The woman, too, did not waste much time on an affectionate farewell or look round, but steered straight for the corner of the house in the farmyard.
That’s that, thought Amanda Backs, and followed. The bailiff’s windows were thereupon shut rather noisily, which annoyed her, for a shut window on such a warm night could only signify that Herr Meier didn’t want any more visitors—which Amanda took personally.
“Wait for me, you Hartig woman!” she called.
“You, Mandy?” asked the coachman’s wife, peering at her. “How you frightened me! Well, good night! I must go. I’m in a hurry.”
