The Adler Strasse lay at some considerable distance, and Frau von Seleneck was both hot and exhausted by the time she reached the unpretentious little house where the Arnims had taken up their quarters. She had not made use of the trams, because if you start taking trams in Berlin you can spend a fortune, and she had no fortune to spend. Moreover, she was a rotund little person, with a dangerous tendency to stoutness, and exercise therefore was a good excuse for saving the pfennige. Certainly she had exercise enough before she reached the Arnims' flat. It was on the top floor, and even for Frau von Seleneck's taste, which was not that of a pampered millionaire, the stairs were unusually steep and narrow and smelly. From the tiny landing where the visitor sought room to wait patiently for the opening of the hall door, it was possible to make a close guess at the various dinners which were being prepared in all four flats. Boiled vegetables formed the staple odour, and as, according to the unwritten law which governs German flats, all the staircase windows were hermetically sealed, it was very noticeable indeed. Not that this troubled Frau von Seleneck in the least. What did trouble her was the obstinate silence which greeted her vigorous application of the electric bell. At last, after one exceptionally determined peal, the door was cautiously opened, and Frau von Seleneck found herself welcomed by a girl who stared at her with an amusing mixture of alarm and indignation, Frau von Seleneck's inner comment was to the point.
"Pretty servants are always a trouble," she thought. "This one will certainly be having love affairs with the Bursche. I shall warn Frau von Arnim at once."
Aloud she inquired if the gnädige Frau was at home. To her surprise, a deep flush mounted the "servant's" cheeks and dyed the white forehead to the roots of the somewhat disordered brown hair. The door was opened a fraction wider.
"I am the gnädige Frau," a low voice said shame-facedly, in a nervous, broken German. "My—my cook has gone out, and so——"
Frau von Seleneck held out both her hands.
"Why, of course!" she cried in English. "How stupid of me! I am terribly short-sighted, you know, or I should not make so silly a mistake. I am Frau von Seleneck—the wife of your husband's old comrade. I should have had the joy of meeting you in Karlsburg, but I was ill at the time—and better late than never, as you English say. I have come now to tell you "Willkommen in the Fatherland!"
Her English came in an almost unintelligible rush, but the tone was so warmhearted and friendly, that poor Nora, who believed she had brought everlasting disgrace upon herself and the whole family, was humbly thankful to open the drawing-room door and usher in her unexpected visitor.
"I don't know what you must think of me," she said, "but just at present we have only one servant, and she has gone out. It seems the tradespeople don't come for orders, and I am much too inexperienced, and know far too little German to go shopping alone."
In her unhappiness at having opened the door, she forgot to offer Frau von Seleneck a chair; but the latter, at heart only too thankful to find the freezing "Engländerin" in so human a fluster, took possession of the centre of the little sofa, and began the work of reassurance.
"That is nothing whatever in the world, dear Frau von Arnim," she said cheerfully. "I often open the door myself, and if anybody takes me for my cook, what does that make? It prove that the person does not belong to my circle, and if he does not belong to my circle it makes nothing what he thinks."