"And—ach, ja, naturlich! There is a countryman of yours who is most anxious to meet you again." She saw Nora's colour change, and added quickly, "I do not mean an Englishman—a captain from the dragoons in Karlsburg—Herr Rittmeister!"
A tall figure in a pale-blue uniform disengaged itself from a group of officers by the window and came towards them. Nora recognised Bauer instantly, but this time his good-looking face, with its expression of almost insolent indifference, aroused no feeling either of aversion or alarm. She determined to treat him as she would have treated any other acquaintance, satisfied that a great change divided the hot-headed child of then from the dignified married woman of now. Bauer's manner also reassured her. He kissed her extended hand with a grave respect which was almost apologetic and caused her to answer his greeting with an impulsive friendliness worthy of a younger and less experienced Nora.
Frau von Gersdorf nodded her satisfaction. She evidently felt that two of her guests were settled for the evening, and patted Nora's arm with a hand whose white beauty was one of the few remaining traces of the past.
"You two can talk Karlsburg news as soon as Herr Rebenski has finished his sonata," she said as she prepared to bustle off. "He is one of my protégés—a real genius, you know."
Bauer looked at Nora with a faint, whimsical grimace.
"Her Excellency has always a genius on hand," he said. "It is part of her own genius—this 'discovering' instinct. Apparently the latest belongs to the piano virtuoso class. We shall have to listen in respectful silence."
To confirm his statement, a profound hush fell upon the assembly. Those who could find chairs sat down, the others lined themselves along the wall and stood in various attitudes of attention or indifference. Bauer had discovered an empty alcove at the back of the room, and from this point of vantage Nora studied her surroundings with the keenness of her new vision. She had written home of her "brilliant life" and had not been hypocritical. For her it had at first been brilliant. The resplendent uniforms, the constant social intercourse, the courtly gallantry of her husband's comrades, the ring of grand names—all these features in her daily life had bewildered her, accustomed as she was to the stagnation and general dullness of Delford society. Now the thought of Miles's advent steadied her critical faculties. She saw behind the first glamour an almost extraordinary simplicity, a total indifference to what she had always looked upon as the refinements of life. These people cared for other things: the women thought little of their appearance—they gloried in their name and position; the men, beneath the polish of their manners, were something primitive in their tastes. Nora thought suddenly of her husband. How little he seemed to mind the narrow dimensions of his home, the ugliness of the furniture! How satisfied the elegant staff-officer seemed with his supper of cheap wine and sausage! Nora's sense of humour won the upper hand. She laughed to herself, and suddenly realised that the long sonata was at an end and that Bauer was speaking to her under cover of the renewed hubbub.
"Gnädige Frau, do you know why I am here to-night?" he asked.
Nora looked up.
"Probably because you were invited, and wished to enjoy a pleasant evening," she said, still smiling at her own thoughts.