"Well, dear Knaak, I will come with you, to see if these warlike times affect the humour of the Karl Theatre."
"My dear sir," replied Knaak, "all the Krupp cannons added to all the needle guns in the world, could not disturb us,--that is to say," he added, gravely, "if we were all together. I, for my own part, am often sad enough when alone: for I am a North German by birth, and all my early recollections lie north; but now I am in heart an Austrian, and the war which is before us makes me very wretched."
"It must be so with many of us," replied von Stielow; "my home, too, lies in the north. It is a melancholy war,--although, as a soldier, I cannot but rejoice that this sword, which has so long been dragged over the pavement, is at last to be used in earnest."
A slight sigh did not quite harmonize with this warlike zeal; perhaps he thought of the newly risen star of his life, and feared it soon might set in bloody clouds.
They had reached the large Hôtel de l'Europe, which, with the Crown Prince Hôtel, occupies the whole length of the Asperngasse. They went into the spacious restaurant through the large doorway, and having passed through it, they came to a closed door, through which they heard cheerful voices and merry laughter.
Knaak opened the door, and with von Stielow entered a somewhat small square room, adorned with hunting pieces and pastoral scenes, where a motley company were assembled around a table on which stood a cold supper, already showing in some of the principal dishes large gaps, proving the assaults that had been made upon it. On the table stood a large bowl filled with fragrant punch; and silver wine coolers filled with ice showed the white heads of champagne bottles peeping from them.
In the midst of the company sat the whimsical queen of the Karl Theatre, the spoilt and sometimes naughty favourite of the public, Josephine Gallmeyer.
Beside her sat her especial friend old Grois, the last remaining actor of the times of Nestroy--a strongly made man with coarse features, with which he was however capable of rendering every shade of expression, and a voice full of comic modulation.
On the other side of the table sat alone and thoughtful the young actor Matras, with his handsome intelligent face, which can represent on the stage of to-day the true old Viennese fun; and near him, in earnest conversation, sat Mademoiselle Schwöder, a dark-eyed young singer, and Doctor Herzel, editor and critic, a man of middle height with a quick intelligent face.
The entrance of Knaak and von Stielow was hailed with joy by the Gallmeyer; she seized a champagne cork lying near her, threw it at them, and cried: