He tossed down the wine, certainly not the first glass he had drunk that evening; a gloomy fire shone in his beautiful eyes; he tried to drown memory in drink, and even if he could not accomplish that, in a few minutes he was the wildest of the wild. The Count, for his part, felt easier in the society of another man of his own rank, who, in passing him, whispered sarcastically in his ear, “Le roi s’amuse!” and proceeded to set him so good an example. They laughed, they sang, they romped; the young ladies’ overflow of fun had hardly any limits. Being in the society of promoters, they would just like to know what promoters were? How did people promote? They would play at being promoters!
“Let the ladies form themselves into a provisional board!” cried Philip.
“But as an unlimited liability company, if I may venture to advise,” said Herr Lübbener.
“Under the title of Love and Wine,” said the Councillor.
“I propose as solicitor Councillor Schieler,” cried the Count, who was not going to be behindhand.
The motion was carried with applause.
The Councillor accepted the honour with thanks, and began to draw up the prospectus of the company, in which the others helped, and each tried to outdo the rest in suggestions. The plan was of a railroad to the moon, with a proviso for a continuation of the line to the Great Bear as soon as the man in the moon should have converted his last silver crescent into cash. Philip proposed that the capital should be seven thousand million fixed stars; at which the company’s lawyer thought it necessary to observe that this word might arouse an unpleasant connection of ideas on the Stock Exchange; would not “comets” inspire more confidence? But then it must be ten thousand million, as too many false ones were in circulation, which even in the weights could not be distinguished from falling stars. The ten millions were immediately subscribed. Ottomar and Bertalda, who subscribed for the smallest sums, were not permitted the honour of being amongst the directors, who were grouped at one end of the table, but had to take their places as mere shareholders at the other end. The Count was to be chairman, with Victorine as deputy. The Count protested that Victorine ought to be president; they argued, they fought, they quarrelled in due form. Bertalda seized the opportunity to draw Ottomar away from the table to a sofa close by.
“Why have you not been to see me for a year, Ottomar?”
“I am going to be married, my dear child.”
“Have you got another love?”
“I have not got another love.”
“Why are there clouds then on your beautiful brow? why do you look so sad, darling Ottomar?”
“Dear Bertalda!”
“Am I that indeed? Do you still love me a very little?”
“Yes! yes!”
“Then”—she throve her arm round his neck and, putting her mouth close to his ear, whispered a few words just as a roar of laughter came from the table. Ottomar sprang up. “They are calling us.” The girl sank in the corner, and with closed eyes waited for his return and his answer, with her full lips pouting for a kiss.
She looked up and passed her hand over her heated eyes; what had happened? Ottomar was no longer in the room; perhaps he was in the anteroom? She stole in on tiptoe. Herr von Werben had taken his hat and coat and left the house. “Bah!” said the girl, “I must not make a fuss about it, I must laugh!” And she laughed madly as she sat down again at the table where Ottomar’s disappearance was scarcely observed, and the others laughed wildly at a speech in which the Councillor, with wonderful dry humour, gave the health of the members of the committee, the first subscribers, the legal adviser and directors of the Earth, Moon, and Great Bear Railway, with double and treble honours, in case any of them should act in a double or treble capacity.
“The next step of respectable promoters will be made, according to all experience, behind the scenes,” said Philip with a cynical smile, holding his glass out to the Count.
“In the greenroom, in fact,” replied the Count, casting a side-glance at Victorine.
“Long live the greenroom!” cried Hugo Lübbener.
“Behind the scenes for me,” said the Councillor.
The glasses rang together, the riot of mirth rose higher and higher, and finally overwhelmed the last remnants of propriety and good manners.
Book III
I
The General was working in his study; Aunt Sidonie was probably writing her “Court Etiquette;” Ottomar had not yet returned from parade; Elsa had fulfilled her household duties, had dressed herself, and had now time, before breakfast, to read Meta’s letters.
This morning two had again arrived together. Elsa had put them unread into her pocket when they were given to her, knowing that Meta’s letters were not of pressing importance. She had now gone into the garden, and was strolling under the tall trees near the wall of the Schmidts’ garden, her favourite walk, and with a smile on her face was deciphering one of the letters, the first she had put her hand upon; it did not generally signify in what order they were read. It was no easy task; Meta wrote a characteristic but not a particularly legible hand. Each letter stood by itself without reference to its neighbours on the right or left, and all had a decided objection to the horizontal, and either ran gaily up to the height above or drooped sadly towards the lower regions which belonged properly to the next line. Interspersed amongst them were strange hieroglyphics resembling swords or lances, which were probably meant for stops, but as they were never to be found where they were expected,
