“Famously, my dear fellow,” answered Balder, seating himself on the side of my bed, although I forestalled his intention, and left hardly an inch for him to sit on. Then he entered into a long and not very lucid rigmarole on souls which are destined to come together. The story was rendered all the more difficult to understand from the fact that I kept falling asleep, and dreaming between his rhapsodies; but I gathered that Balder had met with a young Spanish lady at the mask ball, who apparently possessed the soul which he was fated to meet, and that she was the only person on earth who could make him happy. He had spent the whole evening with her, and she had promised to meet him at the next ball. At his request she had lifted her veil for one instant, revealing a face of Madonna-like beauty. It was a simple story, but when a man’s brain is fired with love he lingers over it. The words grace, Southern colouring, eyes like a gazelle, etc., must have been repeated very often, for I dreamed later on that I was repeating them to myself.
I bore it all patiently, for hospitality is a sacred duty, and, besides, the state which Balder’s mind was in demanded and deserved consideration.
As he went on with his story, he raised his voice, perhaps to rouse my flagging attention. Suddenly, somebody coughed in the next room. It was not a natural cough, but an artificial one, evidently intended by my landlady to serve as a gentle reminder that at two o’clock in the morning all respectable people should be in bed and quiet. My room was only separated from the apartment in which my landlady and her daughter slept by a door, which was hidden on either side by a high wardrobe, through which, in spite of this precaution, voices could be heard very distinctly. I informed Balder of this fact, but, unfortunately, he utterly refused to take my advice and go quietly to bed. He said he could not sleep, and, unhappily, catching sight of my coffee-machine, he added that he would like some coffee.
“Sleep if you can,” he said; “I can manage it all for myself.” He then removed his coat, dressed himself in the dressing-gown which acted as his mattress, and started to get some water from the kitchen, knocking things down on the way, and opening and shutting all the wrong doors. I became resigned, and made up my mind not to waste my breath on any fresh warnings. Somebody else coughed. It was Fräulein Lieschen this time, my landlady’s daughter. At any other time, Balder himself would have shown more consideration.
“STARTED TO GET SOME WATER.”
Most extraordinary noises proceeded from the water-tap in the kitchen. At last the kitchen door banged, and Balder re-appeared again. I expressed my regret that I had no methylated spirit, but he said it did not matter, and catching hold of a bottle of my expensive brandy, poured a lot into the lamp. Then he sat gazing into the blue flame without blinking.
Crash! went the glass globe, and the boiling water poured all over the table and put out the fire. I sprang out of my bed. “Good gracious!” I exclaimed, “the whole thing will explode.” He said nothing, but began to pick up the hot pieces of glass patiently. The coughing in the next room became louder than ever.
“For heaven’s sake!” I went on, “try to be quiet if you can. The people in the next room want to go to sleep. Don’t you hear them coughing?”
“Well! I never heard of such impudence! That coughing has disturbed me for some time. Anybody would think you’d got into an almshouse for old women—Where is the sugar?”