“Orders from Puppelena,” said Jorgen Tambur and at that moment she herself thrust her head in at the door and said in an uncommonly kind tone: “Well? You are not playing? Perhaps it might be a little something to drink?”
“No—no—does the blessed sun shine to-day?” shouted old Schirrmeister and Olkonomen nodded and wiped the keys of his instrument with a red handkerchief, while Jorgen Tambur thoughtfully put the brandy into his breast pocket, and the two bottles of ale deep down in the long skirts of his coat; when Puppelena was going to treat, he could save his for another time.
The concert opened with a Rondo Grazioso by Fürstenau. Olkonomen had once really been able to play Fürstenau; but with the years, a veil of spit, so to speak, had laid itself over his playing, and his fingers were so thick and stiff that he held them out straight when he played.
Jorgen Tambur performed his part with taste and discretion, when with subdued ruffs he covered up where Olkonomen’s trills and runs spent themselves in splutter and wind. But old Schirrmeister accompanied from his own head.
He must have been pretty far gone to take part in these trios; and at times, in his pain and shame, he played so wild an accompaniment, that surely poor Fürstenau would hardly have recognized his peaceful Rondo Grazioso.
When they were well under way, Puppelena peeped in at the door, and a moment after, two young fellows came in; they looked like day laborers or the like. One was one-eyed, and Loppen knew that he was a tinker; on the contrary, the other was a strange fellow who at once set to work making court to her. Elsie preferred to sit in peace and listen to the music which she found exquisite; but aside from that, she was so used to having the men up there pinch her and be familiar, that she did not trouble herself farther about it.
Puppelena herself came in now, as well; and locked the door after her; and at the same time—almost as if he came out of her skirts—one person more appeared; so it was crowded enough in the little room.
He was a small, sallow man. Loppen had seen him there once a short time before, and she had an impression that he was an important personage.
As he sat down on a bench close by the hostess, his little sea-blue eyes ran about into every corner, over all the people, up to the dormer-window, and ended over by the door where the bolt was caught and the key turned.
His face was thin and pale as if he had lived long in the dark; his hair was light red, almost white, and clipped close, with great ridges about the temples. He had whiter hands than the others; but they were seldom to be seen, for he had a habit of sitting on them.