Her cheek flushed slightly as she spoke, her dark eyes glowed, she seemed to Egon at the moment enchantingly beautiful. Her tone and her words were not those of a ball-room puppet. Bertha was not of them, then; she could be vexed and angry and could transgress conventional forms, as was proved by her request to him and by its manner.
He obeyed, dominated by her glance. He took her place at the piano, but for a few moments his hands rested idly upon the keys and his eyes were downcast. The glow in those large black eyes recalled to him the memory of old days which he had thought half forgotten, when suddenly the eyes into which he gazed turned, in his vision, from black to dark, melting blue, and were filled with sympathy for the mental struggles through which he was constantly passing. The spell of the moment that had summoned up the past was dissolved; he belonged again to the peaceful present. Involuntarily the hands upon the keys began to give expression to the gladness that arose within him. He played he knew not what, the various melodies awoke and resolved themselves to harmony beneath his touch, he played as if in a dream, uttering in tones all that he would have said to the lovely child to whom he owed a new and delicious content of soul,--exulting words of joy, gentle words of gratitude, tender words of love.
"Bravo! bravo!" The Lieutenant, desirous of showing his impartial love of art by applauding the detested tutor, clapped his hands loudly. His 'bravo!' roused Egon from his dream as the last notes died away.
He arose. His first glance sought Lieschen, who had been standing behind him, and, who involuntarily held out her hand to him, while tears stood in her frank eyes.
Bertha seemed no less affected. "Thank you," she said, and her voice faltered. "I promise you that you never shall hear a drawing-room performance from me again."
"Splendid! wonderful!" exclaimed the Lieutenant. "Herr Pigglewitch, you have surpassed yourself, you never played so delightfully before. It is your work, Fräulein von Massenburg. Of course, Herr Pigglewitch did his best not to disgrace himself before such an artist. You must play us something else, Herr Pigglewitch."
But this Egon was not to be induced to do, and to cut short the Lieutenant's persistence he closed the piano, and just in time, for Frau von Osternau at that moment called them to the tea-table.
Herr von Sastrow had declared that Bertha von Massenburg could be charming if she chose to be, and she certainly chose to be this evening; she captivated every member of the Osternau family, even, at last, Lieschen and Frau von Osternau, in spite of their prejudices. She did not appear to notice that at first Frau von Osternau's manner was but coolly courteous, and that Lieschen scarcely spoke at all, and never addressed her. She talked on innocently and gaily, and was so cordial and amiable that Frau von Osternau could not but abandon her reserve, and Lieschen became herself once more. As for the head of the house, Bertha had charmed him from the very first, while the Lieutenant was quite enraptured by her, although she paid him less attention than she bestowed upon any other of the little circle. She was more gracious even to the tutor than to Cousin Albrecht.
Indeed, the manner in which she included Egon in the conversation was especially pleasing to Herr von Osternau. In every word which she addressed to the young man she showed the estimation in which she held so accomplished a musician. She said not one flattering word to him with regard to the pleasure he had given her, but there was a respectful acknowledgment of his superiority in the way in which she listened to everything that he said when the conversation turned upon modern music.
With infinite tact she avoided dwelling upon her late stay in Berlin when the Lieutenant clumsily alluded to it. She spoke of her uncle von Sastrow with the greatest affection, but speedily contrived to change the subject.