"Épouvantable!" she whispers.
"Épouvantable!" he responds, staring meanwhile at the brilliant apparition. "Her figure is not bad, though," he adds.
"Not bad?" the Countess repeats, indignantly. "Why, she has the figure of a country bar-maid; involuntarily one fancies her in short petticoats, with her arms full of beer-mugs."
The Baron shakes his head, as if reflecting that there is nothing so very unattractive in the image of the young lady in the costume of a bar-maid; at the same time, however, he declares with emphasis that these Harfinks seem to be odious canaille, which, although it is perhaps his conviction, does not hinder him from admiring Paula.
All the gentlemen present admire her, and all three, the major, the Baron, and Harry, are soon grouped about her, while the ladies at the other end of the room converse,--that is, make disparaging remarks with regard to the Baroness Paula.
Harry, of the three men, is most pressing in his attentions, which amount almost to devotion. Whatever he may whisper to her she listens to with the unblushing ease which makes life so smooth for her. Sometimes she represses him slightly, and anon provokes his homage.
The ladies hope for a while, but in vain, that she will go soon. She is pleased to take a cup of afternoon tea, after which all return to the house, where at Harry's request she makes a display of her musical acquirements.
First she plays, with extreme force and much use of the pedals, upon the venerable old piano, unused to such treatment, even from the major, the ride of the Valkyrias, after which she sings a couple of soprano airs from 'Tannhäuser.'
Harry admires her splendid method; Countess Zriny privately stops her ears with a little cotton-wool. Hour after hour passes, and Krupitschka finally announces supper. Baroness Paula begins hurriedly to put on her driving-gloves, but when Frau Leskjewitsch, with rather forced courtesy, invites her to stay to supper, she replies, "With the greatest pleasure."
And now the supper is over. Harry's seat, meanwhile, has been next to Paula's, and he has continued to pay her extravagant compliments, which he ought not to have done; and, moreover, without eating a morsel, he has drunk glass after glass of the good old Bordeaux of which the major is so proud. All this has produced a change in him. The gnawing pain at his heart is lulled to rest; his love for Zdena and his quarrel with her seem relegated to the far past. For the present, here is this luxuriant beauty, with her flow of talk and her Titian hair. Without being intoxicated, the wine has mounted to his brain; his limbs are a little heavy; he feels a pleasant languor steal over him; everything looks rather more vague and delightful than usual; instead of a severe, exacting beauty beside him, here is this wonderful creature, with her dazzling complexion and her green, naiad-like eyes.