Four German women from the Baltic provinces came out. All of them stout, full-breasted, blonde, powdered, very important and respectful. The conversation did not catch on at first. The girls sat immovable, like carvings of stone, in order to pretend with all their might that they were respectable ladies. Even the champagne, which Ryazanov called for, did not improve the mood. Rovinskaya was the first to come to the aid of the party. Turning to the stoutest, fairest German of all, who resembled a loaf, she asked politely in German:
“Tell me, where were you born? Germany, in all probability?”
“No, gnadige Frau, I am from Riga.”
“What compels you to serve here, then? Not poverty, I hope?”
“Of course not, gnadige Frau. But, you understand, my bridegroom, Hans, works as a kellner in a restaurant-automat, and we are too poor to be married now. I bring my savings to a bank, and he does the same. When we have saved the ten thousand roubles we need, we will open our own beer-hall, and, if God will bless us, then we shall allow ourselves the luxury of having children. Two children. A boy and a girl.”
“But, listen to me, mein Fraulein!” Rovinskaya was amazed. “You are young, handsome, know two languages ...”
“Three, madam,” proudly put in the German. “I know Esthonian as well. I finished the municipal school and three classes of high school.”
“Well, then, you see, you see ...” Rovinskaya became heated. “With such an education you could always find a place with everything found, and about thirty roubles. Well, in the capacity of a housekeeper, bonne, senior clerk in a good store, a cashier, let’s say ... And if your future bridegroom ... Fritz ...”
“Hans, madam ...”
“If Hans proved to be an industrious and thrifty man, then it would not be at all hard for you to get up on your feet altogether, after three or four years. What do you think?”