"Ein Chartreuse und ein Pilsener!"
"Jawohl! Sofort!"
And the waitresses sped, vying with one another, coquetting with their patrons, smiling gayly with sharp retorts; their eyes bright, their trays laden with foaming beer mugs.
In one of the alcoves, far back in the shadow, sat two gentlemen. The younger had removed his hat, and was pushing the hair impatiently back from his brows. His eyes were dark and sleepy, half covered by the brows, weighed down by the lids.
He was leaning on one elbow and responded languidly to his companion, half heeding, toying with his hands, and strumming on the table with his fingers, which were white, and supple, and full of magnetism.
Beside him lay a violin.
"You are nervous to-night, Velasco?"
"I am always nervous."
"What shall we eat and drink?"
"Donnerwetter—what you please! If I eat, I cannot play. Bring me some of that Rhine wine, Fräulein, the white in the slanting bottles, and a plate of Pretzeln. No beer—bewahre!"