"Oh, she is surely relating something piquant about us," says Pistasch. "It is incredible how greatly interested the ladies are in our doings, that is to say, in our evil doings."
Now the shadows have become much longer. Klette has withdrawn to don a wonderful cap of yellow lace and red ribbons, and the men have returned from their bloodless hunt, to exchange their gay shirts and light summer suits for solemn black and dazzling white.
"Rudi," cries the Countess, as she hears a light and yet somewhat dragging step--Scirocco limps a little--passing her dressing-room door.
"Have you any commission, Mimi?" asks Scirocco, with his good-natured obligingness, as he enters the room. The Countess has dismissed her maid, is already in dinner toilet, suppressed laughter sparkles in her bright brown eyes, the corners of her mouth twitch merrily. "No!" she replies to his question. "What commission should I have for you!--Ah! You came from the greenhouse?" pointing to a couple of flowers in his hand.
"Yes. I wished to give the gardener some directions in regard to the flowers for your guests. I remember that Elsa cannot bear gardenias, and Linda--hm--the Lanzberg raves over stephanotis."
"You really might have omitted the bouquets today," says Mimi, vexedly. "My greenhouses without this--thanks to the fair and those stupid theatricals--are pretty well stripped."
"Elsa has never dined here without finding her favorite flowers beside her plate," remarked Scirocco, calmly. "I can neither pass over Linda, nor will I punish Elsa for the misfortune of having a Miss Harfink for sister-in-law. Why are you laughing so, Mimi, what seems so amusing to you?"
"My own simplicity," cries the Countess. "I was so very stupid."
"Mimi, I do not understand you in the least," says he in astonishment.
"Oh, I took your protection of this pretty Lanzberg for unselfish philanthropy!" The Countess interrupts herself to laugh.