"Five hundred gulden!" thought Peter. "That explains a great deal. A good salary indeed! A woman might spare some of her clothing to earn so much money. It is money got by work, and not such hard work as carrying coals. She had to show her legs for that also. But all said and done, it was money honestly earned."
Peter's face began to clear.
"There, you look more like yourself. Don't look wicked again," pleaded Eveline; "and when you go back home tell every one that you have seen me, and that we had a great talk together, and are good friends again. If at any time you know of any one in want, send me a line, and, if it is in my power, I will gladly help them. You must marry, if you are not already married. No? Well, then, you must choose a good girl, Peter. There is Panna, she is just the wife for you, and she was always a friend of mine, or there is Amaza, she liked you, I know, and she is an excellent housekeeper; only, don't marry Mauczi; you would be very unhappy with her, she is a bad girl. And in case you do marry, Peter, here are my wedding-presents for your wife; and remember, I advise you to marry Panna. Here are a pair of ear-rings, a necklace, and a brooch; and to you I give, as a remembrance of myself, this gold watch. See, Peter, my likeness is on the back. Think of me sometimes when you are very happy."
When she said these words Eveline's eyes overflowed, and her lips trembled convulsively. Peter saw it, and drew the conclusion that with all her splendor she was not happy. One thought now took possession of him. He gave no heed to the bridal presents. Whether they were of gold or lead was all one to him, no one should ever see them; but what he thought was:
"She has a good heart, she is generous, she gives with an open hand; but I do not care for her gifts. If she will only kiss me once I will bless her. What is a kiss to her? An alms, one out of the numbers she gives to those fellows on the stage, with their smeared, painted faces."
Poor fool! he didn't know that stage kisses are only mock kisses, just as stage champagne is only lemonade or pure water. Peter believed that one kiss from Eveline would satisfy his thirst; it would assuage the pangs of regret, of jealousy, or rage that had consumed him since the previous night. All would vanish when he would touch her cold, fresh lips. And, after all, had they not been betrothed to one another—all but man and wife? Who could object? Only he didn't know how to express what was in his mind.
"And now let us eat together, Peter," said Eveline, kindly. "I am certain that you are tired of all the good things you get every day; you are satiated with the Vienna cookery. Wait, and I shall cook you something myself—your favorite dish, Peter, which you often said no one cooked so well as I did. I shall make you some porridge."
Peter was electrified. A smile broke out all over his face, either at the mention of his favorite dish, or at the thought that his hostess would herself prepare it. But how is she to cook? There is no hearth, no cooking-vessels.
"Everything will be here," said Eveline, laughing joyously. "I shall change my dress; I cannot cook in this."
She ran off as she spoke, and returned in two minutes. Actresses learn how to dress quickly. She now wore a white embroidered maid's frock, and a little cap on her head. She called no one to help her, but laid a cloth on the oak table, filled a silver kettle with water, set it to boil on a spirit-lamp. She turned up the sleeves of her dress to the elbows, and shook with a light hand the meal into the boiling water; then she turned the mixture deftly with a silver spoon round and round until it became thick. Then she took the kettle by the handle, emptied it on to a glazed clay plate—yes, actually a clay plate!—and poured some cream over the mixture. She fetched two wooden spoons, one for Peter, one for herself.