“There is no doubt about it,” continued Wallbach excitedly; “I could certainly understand the step, even see its necessity, if it had been the only means by which our affair could have been carried through; but as we have the concession in our pocket without that, it is—”
“An unnecessary cruelty.”
“Is it not? and one which will have further consequences. I prophesy that Ottomar will not go to St. Petersburg.”
“But that would be more than cruel, it would be absurd,” said Giraldi.
“You do not know our ways. There is great consistency in such things with us.”
Giraldi was spared an answer. In the doorway to the drawing-room appeared, supported on Carla’s arm, the bent form of an old lady who was waving an immense black fan up and down, and cried out loudly in a cracked voice:
“If Signor Giraldi will not come to old Kniebreche, old Kniebreche must go to Signor Giraldi.”
“I fly, my dear madam!” said Giraldi.
XII
Elsa’s old cook sat on her stool, with her elbows resting upon her knees, staring at the brick floor; August, who was leaning against the window, went on silently cutting his nails with his knife; and Ottomar’s servant was perched upon the table, swinging his long legs.
“It has just struck ,” said the cook, with a despairing look at the hearth, on which the kettle still hung in solitary state over the fire, as it had done since early morning. “Can neither of you at least open your mouths?”
“What is there to say?” answered August. “It will always be likely to happen with us soldiers.”
“It’s a sin and a shame!” said the cook.
“A 1,” affirmed August.
The Dutch clock ticked, the kettle bubbled. Friedrich let himself slide off the table, and stretched his arms.
“I can’t say that I am generally much in favour of these parades,” he said, “but it is my opinion that today we servants might as well have joined it.”
“Yes; the young master always has the best of it,” said the cook. “It is well to be out of range of the firing. If I had been in his place, I would have paraded them today.”
She smoothed down her apron. August shook his head.
“With us military men, that would—”
“Oh, stuff!” interrupted the cook. “Military here, military there! If anyone dismissed my father, I should dismiss him, and that pretty sharp, too!”
She gave her apron another energetic pull, stood up, walked to the hearth, turned the kettle round, and then, as that manifestly did not help matters, began to cry vehemently, from a sense of her helplessness.
“Hullo!” said the lady’s-maid, who just then stepped into the kitchen, “have the lamentations broken out here also?”
She sat down on the stool from which the cook had risen, and stroked down her black silk apron as the other had her coarse kitchen one.
“There, I’ve had enough of it! I can’t stand playing at nursing old women who faint every time anything goes wrong in the house! And to be turned out of the room by the young lady because one treads too heavily, and told to send that stupid goose Pauline, doesn’t suit me any better! And, moreover, I am not accustomed to a party once a fortnight at the outside, and now I suppose even that will come to an end! No, I thank you! Tomorrow they may look out for another lady’s-maid, if suchlike require another lady’s-maid, indeed! And—”
“There, I’ve had enough of that!” said the cook.
“I may talk, I suppose, if I like!” said the lady’s-maid.
“But not in my kitchen!” cried the cook, sticking her still strong arms akimbo, and walking up to the audacious speaker. “What! you will talk about ‘suchlike’ here, in the face of an old, respected servant, who has been twenty years in the house, or eight years like August, to say nothing of Friedrich, although he also is a respectable man, and would rather have gone to the parade today than sit here and see such misery! Do you know who ‘suchlike’ are? All your tag and rag, from whom you ran off to us—they are ‘suchlike,’ with their yard-long trains, and fallals and crinolines! And you are ‘suchlike,’ you shameless hussy, you! and if you don’t leave off grinning this very minute, and get up off my stool, and clear out of my kitchen, I’ll give you a couple of boxes on the ear that will make you remember ‘suchlike’ to the end of your days!”
“I shall not dispute with you,” said the lady’s-maid, getting up in haste, and slipping towards the door from under her antagonist’s raised arm. “You are too—”
“Out with you!” said the cook.
“Too vulgar!”
And the lady’s-maid slammed the door behind her.
“That is one of the A 1’s,” said August.
“A regular one,” said Friedrich.
“And you are dunderheads,” cried the cook, “to put up quietly with such a thing!”
“One should not enter into any discussion with such a person,” said Friedrich.
“The housedoor bell has rung,” said August, delighted to be able to break off the conversation, which was taking so disagreeable a turn. “Our master can hardly be back yet? And we cannot receive anyone today?”
“That depends,” said the cook. “Our poor young lady has not seen a soul today, and the poor thing must want to speak out. But it must be to a real friend.”
“Of course,” said August, buttoning his livery-coat, “one of the A 1’s. Herr von Schönau or—”
“Well, make haste and go upstairs.”
“Ah! the Captain!” cried August, seeing Reinhold in the anteroom.
The Captain stood high in August’s favour, and the Captain, who always looked so amiable, looked so grave today.
“The Captain, of course, knows all about it already,” said August.
“For heaven’s sake!” cried Reinhold, “what has happened? Is anyone ill in the house?”
“Ill—yes,” said August, “but only from fright. Fräulein Sidonie fainted immediately, and so of course we heard all about it. The Lieutenant is, of course, gone to the parade, and will not be back till evening, as he is on duty afterwards at the barracks;
