“Oh, but you must excuse me, my gracious lady; truffles are the very soul of a goose-liver pâté. Without them it is insipid—‘Hamlet’ with Hamlet left out.”
“‘Hamlet’?” rejoined the lady with the governess face. “We were talking of truffles.”
Herr von Konradi shrugged his shoulders. Nobody else said a word. Just then Frau First Lieutenant Leimann entered. She looked as fresh and bright as the morning star.
“A thousand pardons, Frau König,” she smiled, “but I had to finish some important letters.” And she sat down in the place reserved for her.
“We heard you were suffering from headache,” was the general remark.
“Headache? Yes, I forgot—I did have it. But that is such an old story with me that I scarcely think of mentioning it any more.”
She was a handsome young woman, and the fact was made more apparent by the really tasteful gown she wore.
During all this time the adjutant had not said a word. He attended strictly to the business that had brought him here. His voracity attracted no attention, because everybody was used to it. Off and on he merely emitted a species of grunt in token of approval or dissent of what had been said. He was still eating when the hostess finally gave the signal to rise. Then everybody wished everybody else a “blessed digestion,”[4] and made for the adjoining rooms, where the ladies were served with coffee and the men with cordials, beer, and cigars.
Informal chatting was indulged in. The colonel, after briefly despatching a trifling matter connected with the service, for which purpose he retained Müller, who was fairly oozing with good cheer, retired to a quiet corner with Frau Stark. Since their conversation was carried on in whispers, First Lieutenant Borgert, despite strenuous efforts to overhear, could only catch a phrase or a single word from time to time.