"Ach, Gott sei dank! Gott sei dank!" she shouted, clapping her pudgy hands and seizing knife and fork again.
But the others were now rising from their seats, exchanging glances full of anxiety and perplexity; and, as I left the room with Smith, I saw them all gathering around the Ex-Queen of Greece as though general consternation had seized them. Only the Princess Pudelstoff remained in her chair, devouring tartlets, her triple chin agitated by a series of convulsive shudders as she bolted sections of pastry too large for her.
Coffee was to be served al fresco; Raoul had set a number of green iron tables and chairs out by the fountain.
"My heavens, Smith," said I, "we should serve them coffee in a common trough. Did you ever before endure such misery at any table?"
"Oh, yes," he said, "I've lived in Germany."
"Well I haven't, and I'm going to skip the demitasse," I rejoined. And I walked around the house and entered the back door where two latticed arbors flanked the stone walk.
Here I seated myself and lighted a cigarette, still unnerved by the martyrdom of that dinner table.
It was quiet and peaceful in the sunset light under my roof of curly grape leaves where sun spots glowed amid the tender green and two little active birds climbed busily and silently about the foliage in search of aphids.
I had been sitting there for ten minutes, perhaps, when the door opened behind me and Thusis appeared with coffee. Her lovely features still were tinged with the rosy glow of recent wrath; her gray eyes were still brilliant with the same emotion.
"Coffee, if you please, sir?" she said crisply.