CHAPTER XX
It was the evening of the next day. The carriage, which was bearing Lilly to the most dreaded interview of her life, drew up at the door of the Unter den Linden Restaurant, which had been a favourite haunt of the beaumonde for generations. Although Lilly had not been there for a long time, she knew every inch of it. She knew, too, the giant commissionaire, Albert, who stood at the entrance and laid his hand respectfully on his braided cap. It was he who of old used to apprise her of the approach of the handsome officer of Hussars. With downcast eyes and her head pressed against Konrad's shoulder, she glided past him, trusting that he no longer remembered her.
"Uncle, this is Lilly!"
An old gentleman below middle height, with bow legs, and in an ill-fitting lounge-jacket and limp collar, came swaggering out of a private room and held out to her a broad fleshy hand, the skin of which was as loose and brown as a dog-skin glove. She cast a shy, scrutinising glance at this all-powerful person, whom she had pictured as a man of commanding presence and iron will, and who, after all, was only a shaky, corpulent, rather common-looking dwarf.
Then, as she told herself that her own and Konrad's happiness depended on her conduct now and during the next hour or two, she felt the old paralysing nervousness which had not troubled her much of late years come over her. When suffering from these attacks she became as wooden as a doll, and could do nothing but smile inanely, and hardly knew how to pronounce her own name.
The old uncle, too, seemed frozen into silence at the first sight of her. He scanned her from head to foot, and from foot to head, and nearly forgot to invite her into the private room.
This room, with its gold Japanese wall-paper, its carnation silk hangings, its blue Persian rugs, and high-backed sofa, was as familiar to her as everything else in the place. Many a festive midnight hour had she caroused away here with Richard and his chance acquaintances at the time when it was still his ambition to hobnob with the crême de la crême of fast society.
An immaculately shaved waiter took her brocaded evening coat and lace scarf, and measured her as he did so with an eye that seemed to say, "Surely I must have seen you before?"
That was an agonising moment.
The old uncle, who had never ceased to regard her stealthily with awed but grim glances, pulled himself together and said:
"Well, now we are going to have a jolly time together, children ... cosy and friendly--eh? Jolly cosy."
Lilly bowed.
Her bow was a stiff enough inclination of the head, apparently, to increase the bandy-legged old gentleman's reverent esteem for her. He seemed puzzled and ill at ease, trampled restlessly about the room, toyed with the gold charms that dangled from his watch-chain, and nodded two or three times at Konrad in solemn appreciation.
Then they seated themselves at the gleaming white table, which was a mass of glittering cut-glass and flowers. Round the bronze lamp, with its claws and dainty iris stem--Lilly remembered it well--hung a festoon of lilac orchids, which must have cost an immense sum. Evidently this slovenly old rascal understood the art of good living.
Lilly saw herself reflected in a mirror as she sat in her place on the sofa, a radiant picture of composure and distinction. She had chosen a sunray pleated black Liberty silk dress with a bodice of Chantilly lace, which, despite its costliness, clung in the simplest lines gracefully about her neck and shoulders. An innocent masculine mind might easily believe that such a costume could be bought anywhere between San Francisco and St. Petersburg, or Cape Town and Christiania, for two hundred marks.
She had wisely left her jewellery at home. Only the slender gold chain, which she generally wore with a low bodice, encircled in maidenly unpretentiousness her high transparent collar.
She looked like a strictly reared young gentlewoman of quality making her first dêbut in the great world, full of shyness and curiosity.
Konrad occupied the chair on her right. The third place, nearest the door, his uncle had retained for himself.
From the moment he sat down to table he seemed to be in his element. He growled and issued orders, and found fault with everything.
"Look here, my boy," he said to the waiter as he placed the hors d'œuvres in front of him, "do you call that the correct decanter for port wine? Don't you know that if port wine doesn't sparkle in the decanter it assuages thirst?"
Intimidated by his bullying tone, the waiter was going off for another decanter, but Konrad's uncle declared he couldn't spare the time, he must have a "starter" straight away.
"I am still feeling a little stiff," he said apologetically, "I am unaccustomed to entertaining such very beautiful and at the same time stand-offish ladies."
Lilly felt a stab at her heart.
Her lover's eyes met hers with a glance full of reproach and encouragement which said: "You mustn't be so silent. You must try to be nice to him." And in the same mute language she answered humbly and deprecatingly: "I cannot; you talk for both of us."
And then he began in his anxiety to converse as if he had been paid to entertain the company. He described the antiques which his uncle had collected in his castle on the Rhine, referred to threatened American competition, passed on to Italy and the evils of the Lex Pacca--goodness only knew what topic he didn't touch on.
It was quite an illuminating little discourse, which his uncle appeared to follow with modified interest, as he squinted across at Lilly and smacked his lips while he let morsels of tunny in oil slip down his throat.
Suddenly he said, "All very well, my son. Highly instructive and proper. But I wonder if you could not be equally enlightening on the subject of what sort of whisky they provide here?"
Konrad sprang up to look for the bell, but his uncle pulled him back.
"Stop! stop! This is my private entertainment. The port wine is for you. And a beautiful woman, after all, is a beautiful woman, even when she is someone else's beautiful wife. So here's to the health of our beauty."
That sounded very like sarcasm. Was it his intention to make game of her before finally rejecting her claims?
"Permit me," he continued, "to give you my congratulations. You have worked wonders already with the boy.... He dances prettily to your piping--eh?"
Now she was bound to make some answer.
"I don't pipe and he doesn't dance," she said, with an effort. "We are neither of us light-hearted enough for that."
"Ah, that's a nasty one for me," he laughed; but his laugh sounded cross and irritable.
"Lilly meant no harm," interposed Konrad, coming to her rescue. "And certainly the time of stress that we are passing through at present is not easy. If it were not for the help she gives me daily with her understanding and kindness of heart, I am not sure that I could struggle on."
"Very good, very good," he replied; "or perhaps I should say, very pitiable. But your old uncle hasn't had as much as one pretty look or speech from her yet as a seal of our future relationship."
"Oh, that's what he wants, is it?" thought Lilly; and she raised her glass to his, and sought to mollify him with a coquettish little shamefaced smile.
It filled him with evident satisfaction. He twirled his pointed beard, and ogled her familiarly with his twinkling eyes, as if he wished to elicit a sign of secret understanding betwixt them.
"Thank God, perhaps he's not so very formidable after all!" she thought, and gave a sigh of deep relief that the ice was broken at last.
When the waiter came back, a lively discussion ensued between him and Konrad's uncle as to the brands of whisky the hotel boasted.... The debate ended in the manager of the establishment appearing on the scene, and offering to go down into the cellar himself to search for a bottle, which he thought he had somewhere, bearing the label of a certain celebrated firm, and the date of a certain famous year.
Not till this important matter was settled did the old gentleman again devote his attention to his fair future niece-in-law.
"I am an old mud-lark," he said. "I have done business in guano, train oil, Australian pitch, ship grease, and other such unclean things. So you can't wonder at my wishing to refresh myself for once in a way with an appetising object like yourself, dear ungracious lady. All I require is a little return of my interest."
"Ah well, then, I'll just be impudent," thought Lilly. And aloud she said: "You know, Herr Rennschmidt, I am sitting here trembling in my shoes like a poor, unlucky candidate for an examination! I implore you"--she raised her clasped hands towards him--"don't play cat-and-mouse with me."
Now she had struck the right note and given him the opening he desired.
"Her lips are unsealed at last!" he exclaimed, beaming. "And I say, Konrad, what pretty lips she has! I like those long teeth that make the upper lip say to the lower, 'If you won't kiss when I do, I'll have a separation.' Do you see what I mean, Konrad, you dullard?"
Lilly could not help laughing heartily, and at once they were on the best of terms. Even Konrad's dear, haggard face lighted up for a moment with a reassuring smile which did her heart good. For his sake she could almost have thrown herself under his uncle's feet, so dearly did she love him. And with a feeling of rising triumph she thought, "I'll just show him how awfully nice I can be to the old curmudgeon."
It was not so difficult, after all. When she looked at his round, puckered, mischievous old face, with the keen shrewd grey eyes and the beautifully waved snow-white wig--it was actually a wig peaked on the forehead and brushed into two outstanding curls over his ears like a judge's--she felt more and more that he was a good and tried comrade, with whom she had often had good times in the past. And yet she had certainly never met him before.
He had a masterful air of breeding about him, despite his plebeian exterior. His choice of the menu was simply admirable. The 'sixty-eight Steinberger, which flowed into the crystal glasses like liquid amber, suited the blue trout to such perfection that it might have been their native element; and the sweet-bread patties à la Montgelas were worthy accompaniments. Neither Richard nor any of his crew understood so well the gourmet's art.
If only he had not drunk whisky so perpetually in between!
"My brain has been so deadened by money-making," he said in justification, "I am obliged to give it a fillip now and then, or it would become completely dulled."
With the punch à la romaine, a brief and vivacious debate arose as to the merits of certain American drinks, in which Lilly, with her extensive knowledge of bars and beverages, scored. She even knew the exact ingredients of her host's speciality, the "South Sea Bowl," in which sherry, cognac, angostura bitters, with the yolks of eggs and Château d'Yquem, or, if necessary, moselle, contributed to make a fiery mixture. She went so far as to offer to prepare this curious mixture for him after dinner with the skill of an expert, so that he would have to confess he had never drunk anything more delicious between Singapore and Melbourne.
Konrad, who obviously had never suspected her genius in this direction, listened to her with an amazement that filled her with pride. She telegraphed to him one secret signal after the other, asking, "Aren't you pleased? Am I not being very, very nice to him?"
But somehow he would not respond. He was silent and absent-minded, and it often seemed as if he did not belong to the party.
"Well, he may dream if he likes," she thought blissfully. "I'll look after our interests."
Thus every minute the friendship between her and the old worldling grew apace.
By the time they had got to the wild-duck and the dark glowing burgundy, which slid down their throats like warm caresses, she had already begun to call him "dear uncle." He, on his side, declared over and over again that he was "totally wrapped up in his dear, dear little Lilly."
So this was the test, the cruel probation, which she had dreaded with all her soul, through which she had expected to come dissected and unmasked, with every rag of concealment rudely torn off!
When she thought of how differently things were turning out, she could hardly contain herself for glee. There sat the mighty, dreaded peril, whose money-bags meant victory or defeat, a little wild beast tamed, who squeezed her fingers in his repulsive shrivelled hands and fawned on her for a smile.
He was undoubtedly quite amusing, especially when he told good stories.
What a lot of scandal he had gathered in the Colonies! In one evening he told more anecdotes than she had heard for a year. There was, for example, the story of the German Governor, Herr von So-and-So--she had once met him herself at Uhl's--who took up his duties abroad with a suite consisting of secretary, valet, and cook. In six months the cook came and said, "Herr Governor, I am----" He gave her two thousand marks and said, "Here you are, but keep quiet." Then she went to the secretary and said, "Herr Müller, I am----" He gave her three hundred marks and said, "Not a word." Then she went to the valet and said, "Johann, I'm so far gone, we'd better marry." After three months the valet came to the Governor and said, "Your Excellency, the hussy took us all in. The child is black!" And many another yarn followed of the same sort. In short, she nearly died of laughing.
"Konrad, why don't you laugh? Laugh, dearest."
And then he really did smile, but his eyes remained grave and his brow tense.
When the champagne came, they drank each other's health again, and kissed. The touch of those thick sensual old lips was horrible, but to ensure her future happiness it had to be endured. She was going to give Konrad a kiss too, but he declined it. Still worse, he tried to prevent her drinking so much.
"She ought to be more careful," he urged. "Please, uncle, don't fill up her glass so often. We never drink so much as this."
The other two laughed at him.
"He always was a bit of a muff," jeered his old uncle, "and never knew what was good. He's not good enough for you, Lilly; you ought to have a fellow like me--not a prig. He's like a mute at a funeral."
But she saw no joke in this.
"You shan't abuse my darling Konni, you old wretch! Go on telling your old chestnuts. Allons! Fire away!"
No, not a word should be breathed against her dear, sweet Konni!
So uncle started telling good stories again. This time he related them in pigeon-English, that gibberish which the Chinese and other interesting inhabitants of the far East use as a medium of communication with the white sahibs. "Tom and Paddy in the Tea-house"; "The virtuous spinster Miss Laura"; "The Guide and the Bayadere." Each was received with a box of the ears.
"But we mustn't let Konni hear any more, uncle dear. Konni might be corrupted."
So saying, she inclined her left ear very close to dear uncle's lips, and made with her hollowed hand between them a "whispering-tube," which was the custom of "the crew" when any of them wanted to flirt unheard, or do anything else particularly outrageous.
It would be a sad mistake to suppose that she was in the least abashed or unequal to giving as good as she got. The general's "lullabies" were spicy enough, and she had learned from "the crew" much that was of unquestionable origin and questionable taste. For such an appreciative audience as uncle proved to be, it was worth while doing one's best. But the innocent Konrad had to submit to his ears being stuffed up with the wadding on which the Colville apples had been served.
After the coffee, uncle challenged her to keep her promise about brewing the South Sea Bowl, her vaunted knowledge of which, of course, had been mere brag.
She would show him! He shouldn't scoff at her a second time. A variety of bottles were brought; besides the sherry and the angostura, an old, sweet liqueur. It was a pity, uncle thought, to mix such good things, and he took two or three glasses of the latter neat, and she followed his example.
The tiresome eggs broke at the wrong place, it was true, and emptied their contents on her dress and the carpet. But what did that matter? It merely increased the fun ... and dear old uncle was paying for everything. To make up for the eggs smashing, the blue flame of the alcohol-lamp leapt up merrily as high as the orchids, as high as the ceiling.... She would have loved to lick up the flames, as the witches did.
"Your luck, Konni!--our luck, Konni!"
"Don't drink it," she heard him say, and his voice sounded harder than usual. Indeed, she hardly recognised it as his voice at all.
"Muff!" she laughed, and thrust out her tongue at him. "Muff!"
"Don't drink it!" the warning voice said again. "You are not used to it."
She not used to drinking! How dared he say so? This was an insult to her honour; yes, an insult to her honour.
"How do you know what I am used to? I am used to plenty of things you don't guess.... Here, on this seat where I am sitting now, I have sat more than once--more than ten times--and have drunk ten times more."
"Dearest heart, you don't know what you are saying. It isn't true."
Once more his voice sounded gentle and soothing, as if he were reproving a naughty child.
"How dare you say it isn't true? Do you take me for an impostor? I suppose you think I am not at home in swell places like this!... Pooh! Shall I give you a proof? I can--I can!... You'll find my name scratched at the foot of this lamp. Look and you'll find it.... 'Lilly Czepanek ... Lilly Czepanek.' Look! Look, I say!"
He had started to his feet, his face rigid, and fixed his eyes in horror on the polished silver mirror of the lamp, on which was a jumble of scribbled hieroglyphics. He could not distinguish amongst them the L. C. for which he was looking till she came to his assistance. Here, no; there, no. The letters swam into one another. It was like trying to catch hold of the goldfish in the aquarium.
Hurrah! here it was. That was it--"L. v. M." and the coronet above. For in those days she had often had the audacity to call herself by the forbidden title as a temporary adornment.
"Now, do you see, Konni, that I was right? Now you won't mind how much I drink, will you, you dear, precious little muff?"
Utterly crushed by the proof, he sank back in his chair without a single word.
His uncle and Lilly went on drinking and laughing at him.
At this moment she happened to catch sight of herself in the glass. Through a billowy haze she beheld a flushed, puffy face with dishevelled hair falling about it from under a crooked hat, and two deeply marked lines running from mouth to chin. It was not a pleasing spectacle, and she was a little disturbed at it; but before she could distress herself further, the old uncle claimed her attention with a new joke.
"Do you know, Lilly dear, how the Chinese sing 'Die Lorelei'?"
Before she had heard a syllable she went into a fit of giggles. He crossed his bandy legs and played a prelude on the side of his foot as if it were a banjo, "Ping, pang, ping"; and then he began in a cracked, nasal, gurgling voice, drawling his "l's."
"O, my belong too much sorry
And can me no savy, what kind;
Have got one olo piccy story,
No won't she go outside my mind."
When he came to the second verse:
"Dat night belang dark and colo"
he heightened the effect by tearing the wig from his head, and now he looked for all the world like an old nodding mandarin, with his slits of eyes and his polished bare ivory skull.
It was fascinatingly and overwhelmingly funny. Never in her life had she seen such a mirth-provoking, side-splitting piece of clowning. You could have died of envy if you hadn't been Lilly Czepanek, the renowned mimic and impersonator, who, when the spirit moved her, had only to open her lips to rouse a tornado of applause.
Her incomparable repertoire had been growing rusty for too long. "La belle Otéro" was not yet stale, and Tortajada was dancing her ravishing dances, while Matchiche was just becoming the rage.
All you had to do was to tilt your hat a little further back, to raise your black skirt--the dessous was part of what had been brought away yesterday, and would not have disgraced a Saharet--and then you were off!
And she was off! Off like a whirlwind over the carpet, slippery with the yolks of eggs that she had spilt. Hop, skip--olé! olé! Yes, you must shout "Olé!" and clap your hands. "Olé-é-é----"
Dear uncle bawled; the floor rocked in great waves.... Lamps and mirrors danced with her. All hell seemed to be let loose.
"Konni, why don't you shout 'Olé'? ... Don't be so down ... Olé!"
"Uncle, you will have this on your conscience!"
What did he mean by saying that? Why was he sobbing? Why did he stand there as white as the tablecloth?
"Olé--ol-é-é-é!"