"Since he got himself into the scrape, he might have got himself out of it," he thought, as he followed the lackey, who showed him into a small but charming boudoir, fitted up after a rural fashion with light cretonne.
"I'm in for it," the Baron thought, in English. He liked to sprinkle his soliloquies with English phrases, having a great preference for England, whence he imported his clothes, his soap, and his political ideas of reform en gros. In the Reichsrath they called him "Old England."
As he entered the pretty room, a lady rose from a low lounge and came towards him with outstretched hands. Those hands were small, soft, and shapely, and the rings adorning the third finger of one of them--a ruby and a large diamond, both very simply set--became them well. Baron Karl could not help carrying one of them to his lips; thus much, he thought, he owed the poor woman in view of the pain he was about to inflict upon her. Frau von Harfink said a few pleasant words of welcome, to which he replied courteously, and then, having taken his seat in a comfortable arm-chair near her favourite lounge, the conversation came to a stand-still. The Baron looked in some confusion at his hostess. There was no denying that, in spite of her fifty years, she was a pretty woman. Her features were regular, her teeth dazzling, and if there was a touch of rouge on her cheeks, that was her affair; it did not affect her general appearance. The fair hair that was parted to lie in smooth waves above her brow was still thick, and the little lace cap was very becoming. Her short, full figure was not without charm, and her gown of black crêpe de Chine fitted faultlessly. The Baron could not help thinking that it would be easier to give her pain if she were ugly. There was really no objection to make to her. He had hoped she would resemble his friend Doctor Grünbart, but she did not resemble him. While he pondered thus, Frau von Harfink stretched out her hand to the bell-rope.
"My daughters are both out in the park; they will be extremely glad to see you, especially Paula, who has been most impatient to know you. I will send for them immediately."
Karl Leskjewitsch prevented her from ringing. "One moment, first," he begged; "I--I am here upon very serious business."
Her eyes scanned his face keenly. Did she guess? did she choose not to understand him? Who can tell? Certain it is that no woman could have made what he had come to say more difficult to utter.
"Oh, let 'serious business' go for the present!" she exclaimed; "there is time enough for that. A mother's heart of course is full----"
In his confusion the Baron had picked up a pamphlet lying on the table between Frau von Harfink and himself. Imagine his sensations when, upon looking at it closely, he recognized his own work,--a pamphlet upon "Servility among Liberals,"--a piece of political bravado upon which the author had prided himself not a little at the time of its publication, but which, like many another masterpiece, had vanished without a trace in the yearly torrent of such literature. Not only were the leaves of this pamphlet cut, but as the Baron glanced through it he saw that various passages were underscored with pencil-marks.
"You see how well known you are here, my dear Baron," said Frau von Harfink, and then, taking his hat from him, she went on, "I cannot have you pay us a formal visit: you will stay and have a cup of tea, will you not? Do you know that I am a little embarrassed in the presence of the author of that masterpiece?"
"Ah, pray, madame!"--the democrat par excellence could not exactly bring himself to an acknowledgment of Frau von Harfink's brand-new patent of nobility,--"ah, madame, the merest trifle, a political capriccio with which I beguiled an idle hour; not worth mentioning."