The door opened, and there came into the room a quaint little fellow, in a red coat with big steel buttons, black silk breeches, heavily powdered frisure, and a little round pigtail.
"Good Cochenille!" Ludwig called out to him. "Dearest Monsieur Cochenille, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
Euchar, declaring that important engagements called him away, left his friend alone with the confidential servant of Count Walther Puck.
Cochenille, sweetly smiling, with downcast eyes, stated that their Countly Excellencies were quite convinced that the most honoured Herr Baron had been attacked, during the 'seize,' by a malady which bore a Latin name something like Raptus, and that he, Monsieur Cochenille, was come to make inquiries as to his present state of welfare.
"Raptus! Raptus! Nothing of the kind." And he related, and detailed at length, how the whole matter had come about, ending by begging the talented Kammerdiener to put affairs in order as far as he possibly could.
Ludwig learned that his partner was a cousin of Countess Victorine, just arrived from the country for the occasion of the Count's birthday--that she and the Countess Victorine were one heart and one soul, and--inasmuch as the sympathies of young ladies often display themselves in the form of silks and crapes--were often in the habit of dressing exactly alike. Cochenille was further of opinion that the vexation of Countess Victorine was not very genuine. He had handed her an ice at the end of the ball, when she was standing talking to her cousin, and had noticed that they were laughing tremendously, and had heard them several times mention the honoured Baron's name. The truth was, according to what he had been able to observe, that this cousin was of a temperament exceedingly disposed to the tender passion, and would only be too delighted if the Baron would carry further what he had begun, namely, at once set to work to pay assiduous attentions to her, and in due course put on glacé gloves, and lead her to the altar: but that he, for his part, would do everything he could to prevent such a course of events. The first thing in the morning, as he would be having the honour to friser his Countly Highness, he would take an opportunity of laying the whole matter before him, and would also take the liberty of begging him, as an uncle regardful of his niece's best interests, to represent to her that the Herr Baron's declaration of love was merely a species of "flourish" belonging to the "tour" which he happened to be executing at the time--just as declarations of the kind generally were. That, he thought, would be of some service. Cochenille finally advised the Baron to go and see Countess Victorine as soon as possible, and told him there would be an opportunity of doing so that very day. Madame Bechs, the Consistorial President's lady, was giving an aesthetic tea that afternoon, with tea which (he had been told by the Russian Ambassador's valet) had come direct overland from China through the Russian Embassy, and had an extraordinarily delicious flavour and scent. There he would find Victorine, and be enabled to put everything straight again.
Ludwig saw that it was nothing but unworthy doubt which had had the power of disturbing his love-happiness: and he resolved to make himself so marvellously charming at the "thé" of Madame Bech, the Consistorial President's lady, that Victorine should never so much as dream of being at all "grumpy."
The Æstetic Tea. Choking Cough of a Tragic Poet. The Story Takes a Serious Turn, and Tells of Bloody Battle, Suicide, and Similar Matters.
The courteous reader must be good enough to accompany Ludwig and Euchar to this æsthetic tea, which is now going forward at Madame Bech's, the Consistorial President's lady. About a dozen of the fair sex, appropriately attired, are seated in a semi-circle. One is thoughtlessly laughing; another is immersed in a contemplation of the tips of her shoes, with which she is managing to practise the "pas" of a "Française," silently and unobserved; a third appears to be sweetly sleeping (and dreaming more sweetly still); a fourth darts the fiery beams from her eyes athwart the room in all directions, with the intention that they shall impinge upon not one but all the men who are present. A fifth lisps forth "Heavenly! Glorious! Sublime!" and those utterances are for the behoof of a young poet, who is reading out with all possible pathos a new tragedy of destiny, tedious and silly enough even to be read aloud on such an occasion. A delightful feature of the affair was, that one heard a species of obbligato accompaniment going on in the next room, a species of growling, like the rumble of distant thunder. This was the voice of the Consistorial President, who was playing piquet with Count Walther Puck, and making himself audible in this manner.
The poet read out, in the most dulcet accents at his command--