“Ashes of roses!” she echoed. “How pretty, yes? But a little sad too, is it not so? Like rosy hopes that have been withered. Ach, what a foolish talk! So, now you will fasten it please. A real trick it is to button such a dress— so sly they are, those fastenings.”
When all the sly fastenings were secure I stood at gaze.
“Nose is shiny,” I announced, searching in a drawer for chamois and powder.
Frau Nirlanger raised an objecting hand. “But Konrad does not approve of such things. He has said so. He has —”
“You tell your Konrad that a chamois skin isn’t half as objectionable as a shiny one. Come here and let me dust this over your nose and chin, while I breathe a prayer of thanks that I have no overzealous husband near to forbid me the use of a bit of powder. There! If I sez it mesilf as shouldn’t, yez ar-r-re a credit t’ me, me darlint.”
“You are satisfied. There is not one small thing awry? Ach, how we shall laugh at Konrad’s face.”
“Satisfied! I’d kiss you if I weren’t afraid that I should muss you up. You’re not the same woman. You look like a girl! And so pretty! Now skedaddle into your own rooms, but don’t you dare to sit down for a moment. I’m going down to get Frau Knapf before your husband arrives.”
“But is there then time?” inquired Frau Nirlanger. “He should be here now.”
“I’ll bring her up in a jiffy, just for one peep. She won’t know you! Her face will be a treat! Don’t touch your hair—it’s quite perfect. And f’r Jawn’s sake! Don’t twist around to look at yourself in the back or something will burst, I know it will. I’ll be back in a minute. Now run!”
The slender, graceful figure disappeared with a gay little laugh, and I flew downstairs for Frau Knapf. She was discovered with a spoon in one hand and a spluttering saucepan in the other. I detached her from them, clasped her big, capable red hands and dragged her up the stairs, explaining as I went.
“Now don’t fuss about that supper! Let ‘em wait. You must see her before Herr Nirlanger comes home. He’s due any minute. She looks like a girl. So young! And actually pretty! And her figure—divine! Funny what a difference a decent pair of corsets, and a gown, and some puffs will make, h’m?”
Frau Knapf was panting as I pulled her after me in swift eagerness. Between puffs she brought out exclamations of surprise and unbelief such as: “Unmoglich! (Puff! Puff!) Aber—wunderbar! (Puff! Puff!)
We stopped before Frau Nirlanger’s door. I struck a dramatic pose. “Prepare!” I cried grandly, and threw open the door with a bang.
Crouched against the wall at a far corner of the room was Frau Nirlanger. Her hands were clasped over her breast and her eyes were dilated as though she had been running. In the center of the room stood Konrad Nirlanger, and on his oogly face was the very oogliest look that I have ever seen on a man. He glanced at us as we stood transfixed in the doorway, and laughed a short, sneering laugh that was like a stinging blow on the cheek.
“So!” he said; and I would not have believed that men really said “So!” in that way outside of a melodrama. “So! You are in the little surprise, yes? You carry your meddling outside of your newspaper work, eh? I leave behind me an old wife in the morning and in the evening, presto! I find a young bride. Wonderful!— but wonderful!” He laughed an unmusical and mirthless laugh.
“But—don’t you like it?” I asked, like a simpleton.
Frau Nirlanger seemed to shrink before our very eyes, so that the pretty gown hung in limp folds about her.
I stared, fascinated, at Konrad Nirlanger’s cruel face with its little eyes that were too close together and its chin that curved in below the mouth and out again so grotesquely.
“Like it?” sneered Konrad Nirlanger. “For a young girl, yes. But how useless, this belated trousseau. What a waste of good money! For see, a young wife I do not want. Young women one can have in plenty, always. But I have an old woman married, and for an old woman the gowns need be few—eh, Frau Orme? And you too, Frau Knapf?”
Frau Knapf, crimson and staring, was dumb. There came a little shivering moan from the figure crouched in the corner, and Frau Nirlanger, her face queerly withered and ashen, crumpled slowly in a little heap on the floor and buried her shamed head in her arms.
Konrad Nirlanger turned to his wife, the black look on his face growing blacker.
“Come, get up Anna,” he ordered, in German. “These heroics become not a woman of your years. And too, you must not ruin the so costly gown that will be returned to-morrow.”
Frau Nirlanger’s white face was lifted from the shelter of her arms. The stricken look was still upon it, but there was no cowering in her attitude now. Slowly she rose to her feet. I had not realized that she was so tall.
“The gown does not go back,” she said.
“So?” he snarled, with a savage note in his voice. “Now hear me. There shall be no more buying of gowns and fripperies. You hear? It is for the wife to come to the husband for the money; not for her to waste it wantonly on gowns, like a creature of the streets. You,” his voice was an insult, “you, with your wrinkles and your faded eyes in a gown of—” he turned inquiringly toward me—“How does one call it, that color, Frau Orme?”
There came a blur of tears to my eyes. “It is called ashes of roses,” I answered. “Ashes of roses.”
Konrad Nirlanger threw back his head and laughed a laugh as stinging as a whip-lash. “Ashes of roses! So? It is well named. For my dear wife it is poetically fit, is it not so? For see, her roses are but withered ashes, eh Anna?”
Deliberately and in silence Anna Nirlanger walked to the mirror and stood there, gazing at the woman in the glass. There was something dreadful and portentous about the calm and studied deliberation with which she critically viewed that reflection. She lifted her arms slowly and patted into place the locks that had become disarranged, turning her head from side to side to study the effect. Then she took from a drawer the bit of chamois skin that I had given her, and passed it lightly over her eyelids and cheeks, humming softly to herself the while. No music ever sounded so uncanny to my ears. The woman before the mirror looked at the woman in the mirror with a long, steady, measuring look. Then, slowly and deliberately, the long graceful folds of her lovely gown trailing behind her, she walked over to where her frowning husband stood. So might a queen have walked, head held high, gaze
