“You were in fine mettle to-day, Mr. Wondergood. I even wept. It is a pity that neither Magnus nor his daughter heard you preach, She—she would have changed her opinion of us.”
You understand, of course, that I felt like kicking this admirer out of the carriage! I again felt in the pupils of my eyes the piercing sting of hers. The speed with which I was again turned inside out and spread out on a plate for the public’s view is equal only to that with which an experienced waiter opens a can of conserves. I drew my top hat over my eyes, raised the collar of my coat and looking very much like a tragedian just hissed off the stage, I rode silently, and without acknowledging the greetings showered upon me, I proceeded to my apartments. Ah, that gaze of Maria! And how could I have acknowledged the greetings when I had no cane with me?
I have declined all of to-day’s invitations and am at home: I am engaged in “religious meditation”—this was how Toppi announced it to the journalists. He has really begun to respect me. Before me are whiskey and champagne. I am slowly filling up on the liquor while from the dining hall below come the distant strains of music. My Wondergood was apparently considerable of a drunkard and every night he drags me to the wineshop, to which I interpose no objection. What’s the difference? Fortunately his intoxication is of a merry kind and we make quite a pleasant time of it. At first we cast our dull eyes over the furniture and involuntarily begin to calculate the value of all this bronze, these carpets, Venetian mirrors, etc.
“A trifle!” we agree, and with peculiar self-satisfaction we lose ourselves in the contemplation of our own billions, of our power and our remarkable wisdom and character. Our bliss increases with each additional glass. With peculiar pleasure we wallow in the cheap luxury of the hotel, and—think of it!—I am actually beginning to have a liking for bronze, carpets, glass and stones. My Puritan Toppi condemns luxury. It reminds him of Sodom and Gommorah. But it is difficult for me to part with these little emotional pleasures. How silly of me!
We continue to listen dully and half-heartedly to the music and venture to whistle some accompaniments. We add a little contemplation on the decollete of the ladies and then, with our step still firm, we proceed to our resting room.
But we were just ready for bed when suddenly I felt as if some one had struck me a blow and I was immediately seized with a tempest of tears, of love and sadness. The extraordinary suddenly found expression. I grew as broad as space, as deep as eternity and I embraced all in a single breath! But, oh, what sadness! Oh, what love, Maria!
But I am nothing more than a subterranean lake in the belly of Wondergood and my storms in no way disturb his firm tread. I am only a solitaire in his stomach, of which he seeks to rid himself!
We ring for the servants.
“Soda!”
I am simply drunk. Arrivederci, Signor, buona notte!