“Where shall we meet again?”
“And when?”
“A year from today. In the garden of the Belle-Alliance Theatre in Berlin. Travel is a necessary obligato.”
Somewhat solemnly, though with cheerful gestures, they pledged one another in a silently emptied glass of port.
And then they sauntered into the drawing-room.
A year later, Farlough strolled into the Belle-Alliance Theatre. He looked healthier and stronger; the tired look had left his eyes. He looked over the theatre lovingly. It had not changed much. Never very gay, but always cosy.
They were presenting Lortzing’s ever delightful “Zar und Zimmerman,” and, while it was by no means an adequate performance, it was decidedly a pleasant one.
When the curtain had come down after the first act, Farlough strolled out into the garden. The place was brilliant with its hundreds of crystal-clasped lights overhanging the graveled walks. A throng of Berliners went chattering about. Only a very occasional Englishman or American came into evidence.
In the small open air theatre a comedian was giving a lively imitation of Sarah Bernhardt.