He goes his little way, pursues his little aim, and will attain it. Only two years ago young aristocrats invited him exclusively to stag parties, hunts, etc.; then Count F---- wrote a little operetta for a society tenor. The tenor, a young diplomat, after the first rehearsal of the operetta was transferred to Constantinople--universal consternation. They had about resolved to surrender the operetta, which was to be performed for a charitable object, to a professional when Pistasch proposed his old Theresanium comrade, Eugene. Eugene, with his unusually beautiful voice, sang the little rôle charmingly; all were delighted with his singing, his graceful acting. At one stroke he became the fashion.
His passion for Linda, Eugene had long buried under his worldly egoism; he was glad that he had been prevented from the foolishness of a marriage with her. He planned quite a different match, made use of his opportunities, and meanwhile was in no hurry. He knew very well on what footing he stood with society, knew that they wished to fasten upon him Countess Fifi R----, who was red-haired and somewhat hump-backed, or even Countess Clarisse, who was scrofulous and had been much gossiped about, knew it and laughed at it. He was still young and could wait.
Social vanity was his religion, the world his god, to whom, however, he did not pay such passionate, credulous homage as Linda, for example, but always with an ironical smile on his lips.
After he had gone through the romance with the Countess for perhaps a hundred times, had finally taught her text, melody, and even a sentimental mordent, and is now dismissed from duty, Eugene looks into the billiard-room again before he goes to his own room, and finds Pistasch, between thick clouds of smoke, occupied with a tschibouk.
"Do I disturb you?" he asks, gayly.
"Oh, heavens, no! I have long been weary of my own society," sighs Pistasch with feeling.
"I have an amusing bit of news for you, Pistasch," continues Rhoeden, approaching him. "My uncle Harfink"--Eugene always speaks of his relations in a mocking tone, somewhat as one kind of cripples speak of their humps--"my uncle Harfink--you remember his first wife, whom you knew, is dead--well, he has married again!"
"Wish him much happiness," replies Pistasch, who does not see why that should interest him particularly.
"He has married, and none other than the famous Juanita," says Rhoeden, with the calmness of a virtuoso who is sure of his effect.
Pistasch drops his pipe, springs up from his armchair. "Harfink--married--Juanita, the----" he interrupts himself.