"What else?" thought Frederick, disgusted, though he had to admit that he had actually become famous.
Through Petronilla he sent word to Ingigerd to ask whether it would be agreeable to her to receive him. Petronilla returned with the message that Ingigerd would see him in a quarter of an hour. "Signor Pittore Franck is with her," the housekeeper added; which piece of information sent the blood rushing to Frederick's head; and though it had been his intention to wash and change his clothes, he scarcely waited for Petronilla to conclude her message, and dashed up-stairs three steps at a time. He knocked on Ingigerd's door loudly. No one said "Come in." Nevertheless he opened the door and entered and saw the gypsy painter sitting at Ingigerd's side. On the table under the electric bulbs, lay a large sheet of paper, on which Franck was sketching with a soft pencil what Frederick on stepping nearer saw to be hasty designs for costumes.
"I said in a quarter of an hour," said Ingigerd slowly, making a wry face.
"I'll come whenever I choose to," said Frederick.
Franck, rising without the least air of haste or confusion, greeted Frederick with perfect cordiality and walked to the door.
"I don't want to disturb you. Good evening, Doctor von Kammacher," he said with a grin betraying some delight in Frederick's annoyance.
"Rigo!" Ingigerd called after him. "You promised to come again to-morrow morning."
"What's that boy doing in your room, Ingigerd?" Frederick demanded somewhat roughly, in evident anger. "And 'Rigo'? What does 'Rigo' mean? Are both of you out of your wits?"
Though this tone of his must have been new to her, it seemed agreeable to her, for she said very humbly:
"Well, why did you stay away so long?"