Gard had, after the months, adjusted himself somewhat to these conditions. He had become, he thought, more used to the German way of living. To get the best out of it, he realized that one must coarsen instead of refine the senses and aptitudes. Instincts should be strengthened, roughened, rather than checked or made more esthetic. The German puts a heavy hand on things. He takes big bites at existence. Thunderous might envelops and clouds his idea of perfection.
CHAPTER XXXI
A Casual Tragedy
ONE morning early in June when Kirtley, who had been away the afternoon and evening before, came down to breakfast, he found the household upset. Something bad had happened. Tekla was gone. Rudi was not to be seen. Frau had prepared a partial meal and Elsa was making ready to sweep and dust and tidy up the rooms.
The parents were in a rage. They made no bones about it. Frau blurted out with German unreservedness:
"I packed Tekla off—the animal. She had no consideration for me. What do you think, Herr Kirtley? She is going to be a mother. And by Rudi. Wouldn't you have thought he would have more sense than this—right here at home—break up my service? He let her get him into the mess. I have no doubt it was her doings—my poor Rudi. We have sent him away for a couple of days. I told Tekla to go—be off. And she was out on the street—like that—with her bundle of belongings under her arm. And here I am with no servant. Ach Gott! they are all cattle, of course. One has to put up with them."
Herr was in a growling, ferocious state. He blamed Tekla. He blamed his Frau for not knowing what was going on. It was the woman's fault. Everything always was. His incomplete breakfast was late.
"Is there nothing left to eat in the house?" he cried out. He took on a famished and abused air, although he had had his usual six meals the day before. "Give me at least some cheese and bread!"