höchste Lust!”
A great woman and her passion were dead and the world was poorer.
The applause was long and Styr was forced to return and bow many times; but when Baron Walleypeg announced that she would not sing again, the audience rose, and Ordham went in search of her. She had not glanced in his direction, but he chose to believe that she had kept her word and sung to him. He found her near the door of the supper room, surrounded by so dense a crowd of men and women that he could not approach within two feet of her. But she smiled at him, and a few moments later, when there was a break in the ranks, extended her hand. When he would have lifted it to his lips in the German fashion, which he privately thought beneath his dignity unless the hand were young and shapely, she shook his warmly, as if to remind him that she was an American. It was pleasant to feel a hearty clasp again, and he smiled with quick response, but asked her formally if it did not tire her to sing so often. She replied that nothing tired her; and then her ear was claimed by a personage in a light blue uniform embellished with many orders, whom she addressed as “Königliche Hoheit.” It was impossible to interrupt her conversation with a prince of the blood, but Ordham stood his ground and glanced about idly. Nothing could be more formal than Princess Nachmeister’s dinners, and nothing less so than her suppers, when her guests, presumably, had had enough of the straight and narrow chairs of Louis XIV. Only the unfortunate royalties were marshalled to an alcove and seated about a table on a dais; the other guests stood, sat on little sofas, grouped about small tables, as they listed; the women waited upon, not only by the lackeys, but by the young officers and diplomatic attachés. Now and again the imposing and portly, who no doubt commanded the incessant service of their hausfraus at home, were moved to demonstrate their youthful agility.
Ordham’s eye met the fixed gaze of Hélène Wass, sitting conspicuously apart. He nodded carelessly to the wife of the distinguished Geheimrath, heedless of the significance of the act, then coloured with annoyance as he turned to meet a glance of keen inquiry in the eyes of Margarethe Styr. Those eyes deliberately travelled from his to the siren in green tulle and water-lilies, and encountered a look of haughty defiance. Another dignitary offering his arm, she moved away, but gave Ordham a little nod and smile which seemed to say, “Later—nicht wahr?”
As he turned he could not avoid seeing that Frau von Wass was still strangely alone, and felt that he could do no less than offer his services. She was quite at the end of the room, and she had time to observe that he came on a leaden foot. Once more hatred flamed and almost routed the octopus of her love. She had leapt to the not unwarranted conclusion that there was an understanding between Ordham and the great singer whom no man pretended to know informally. The hand-shake and smile, the challenging glance at herself, caused the depths of the desperate woman to swarm with fighting devils, rushing on their armours and polishing their blades. She swore under her breath that she would ruin him if she could not have him, and her momentary hatred gave her a poise which, in her ferment, she might otherwise have been unable to command. She smiled brightly when he finally stood before her.
“Bring me an ice and a cup of coffee,” she said, in the pretty woman’s careless tone of command, which he had thought so charming a few weeks ago. He left her with alacrity; then, as he never could find anything, it was quite fifteen minutes before he returned, followed by two servants bearing a small table and a delicate but abundant supper.
“Always the grand seigneur!” she said lightly. “Even one or two Hoheits are waiting on the ladies, and as for several of my husband’s portly old confrères—Well! the less one expects of you the better.”
She took a chair that gave her the advantage of sitting with her back to the room, and Ordham wondered if she meant to treat him to a scene, then reassured himself with the memory of her formal renunciation. And her present manner was light and agreeable, that of the gay young woman of the world.
“See how bored those poor dears are!” She indicated the segregated royalties. “Whatever else has been my unhappy fate, I can at least be thankful that I was not born a Hoheit. Do you know that all the queer people of my acquaintance I have met at one or other of the royal palaces? No wonder royalties grasp at the few liberties permitted them, and snatch at any straw that relieves their ennui.”
“You met me at court,” said Ordham, for want of something better.