Bertha Garlan Part 17

"My dear girl, we can't stroll about the streets all night, you know,"

said Emil suddenly.

"No ... but I cannot come with you ... into a restaurant.... Just think, if I should happen to meet my cousin or anyone else!"

"Make your mind easy, no one will see us."

Quickly he pa.s.sed through a gateway and closed the umbrella.

"What are you going to do, then?"

She saw a large garden before her. Near the walls, from which canvas shelters were stretched, people were sitting at tables, laid for supper.

"There, do you mean?"

"No. Just come with me."

Immediately on the right of the gate was a small door, which had been left ajar.

"Come in here."

They found themselves in a narrow, lighted pa.s.sage, on both sides of which were rows of doors. A waiter bowed and went in front of them, past all the doors. The last one he opened, allowed the guests to enter, and closed it again after them.

In the centre of the little room stood a small table laid for three; by the wall was a blue velvet sofa, and opposite that hung a gilt framed oval mirror, before which Bertha took her hat off and, as she did so, she noticed that the names "Irma" and "Rudi" had been scratched on the gla.s.s. At the same time, she saw in the mirror Emil coming up behind her. He placed his hands on her cheeks, bent her head back towards himself, and kissed her on the lips. Then he turned away without speaking, and rang the bell.

A very young waiter came in at once, as if he had been standing outside the door. When he had taken his order he left them, and Emil sat down.

"Well, Bertha!"

She turned towards him. He took her gently by the hand and still continued to hold it in his, when Bertha had taken a seat beside him on the sofa. Mechanically she touched her hair with her other hand.

An older waiter came in, and Emil made his choice from the menu. Bertha agreed to everything. When the waiter had departed, Emil said:

"Mustn't the question be asked: How is it that all this hasn't happened before to-day?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Why didn't you write to me long ago?"

"Well, I would ... if you had got your Order sooner!"

He held her hand and kissed it.

"But you come to Vienna fairly often!"

"Oh, no."

He looked up.

"But you said something like that in your letter!"

She remembered then, and grew red.

"Well, yes ... often ... Monday was the last time I was here."

The waiter brought sardines and caviar, and left the room.

"Well," said Emil; "it is probably just the right time."

"In what way?"

"That we should have met again."

"Oh, I have often longed for you."

He seemed to be deep in thought.

"And perhaps it is also just as well that things _then_ turned out as they did," he said. "It is on that very account that the recollection is so charming."

"Yes, charming."

They were both silent for a time.

"Do you remember ..." she said, and then she began to talk of the old days, of their walks in the town-park, and of her first day at the Conservatoire.

He nodded in answer to everything she said, held his arm on the back of the sofa, and lightly touched the lock of hair, which curled over the nape of her neck. At times he threw in a word. Then Emil himself recalled something which she had forgotten; he had remembered a further outing: a trip to the Prater one Sunday morning.

"And do you still recollect," said Bertha, "how we ..." she hesitated to utter it--"once were almost in love with each other?"

"Yes," he said. "And who knows ..."

He was perhaps about to say: "It would have been better for me if I had married you"--but he did not finish the sentence.

He ordered champagne.

"It is not so long ago," said Bertha, "since I tasted champagne. The last time was about six months ago, at the party which my brother-in-law gave on the occasion of his fiftieth birthday."

She thought of the company at her brother-in-law's, and it was amazing how remote from the present time it all seemed--the entire little town and all who lived there.

The young waiter brought an ice-tub with the wine. At that moment it occurred to Bertha that Emil had certainly been there before, many a time, with other women. That, however, was a matter of tolerable indifference to her.

They clinked gla.s.ses and drank. Emil embraced Bertha and kissed her. That kiss reminded her of something ... what could it have been, though?... Of the kisses she had received when a young girl?... Of the kiss of her husband?... No.... Then it suddenly occurred to her that it was exactly like the kisses which her young nephew Richard had lately given to her.

The waiter came in with fruit and pastry. Emil put some dates and a bunch of grapes on a plate for Bertha.

"Why don't you say something?" she asked. "Why do you leave me to do all the talking? And you know you could tell me so much!"

"I?..."

He slowly sipped the wine.