The Song Of Songs Part 63

She clung to his arm.

Now to her ruin!

The large anteroom, into which not a single ray of light penetrated in the daytime, and which Mr. Kellermann used as a kitchen, bedroom and dining-room, had been converted into a sort of fairy forest.

Vari-coloured Chinese lanterns swung on the branches of pine trees, and in their dim red glow several couples sat smiling and whispering on narrow bamboo benches. They were so absorbed in themselves that they paid little heed to the new arrivals.

All the more animated was Lilly's reception in the studio, which was filled with a bright, glittering ma.s.s of humanity. A general "ah," then absolute silence. A pa.s.sageway naturally formed itself, down which the couple seemed to be expected to pa.s.s. Lilly made a gesture, as if to hide behind her friend. But he reached only up to her nose.

At the same instant Mr. Kellermann came hurrying up to them. He wore a brown velvet costume consisting of a jacket, knee-length breeches, and a Phrygian cap. Everybody, in fact, wore what seemed to him original and becoming.

"Welcome, G.o.ddess, queen!" he cried in a voice for the entire company to hear; and since nothing better occurred to him, he pressed kisses on her gloved arm from wrist to elbow.

Then he begged to be allowed to show her the incomparable arrangements of his new court of love. She followed him, whispering to her friend to be sure to remain at her side.

Electric lights had been hung in the open air directly over the skylight, converting it into a many-coloured, starry heaven. On looking up one really thought a thousand little suns were s.h.i.+ning down from out of the night.

Rugs and ivy vines divided the left side, where the gable roof sloped downward, into a number of small arbours, the entrance of each of which was hung with gaily coloured bead portieres. And over each hung a great printed placard bearing a highly suggestive inscription.

The first was called "Arbour of Lax Morality." Lilly turned a startled look upon her guide, who observed with a smile:

"That's only the beginning, meant for bread-and-b.u.t.ter-misses and little afternoon-tea-souls like you." And added:

"This is but an intimation Of more wicked adjuration,"

while he pointed to the second entrance, the inscription over which read: "Arbour of Wicked Vows."

"Oh, dreadful!" she cried in righteous dismay. Kellermann rolled with laughter.

She could not help reading the next two signs, "Arbour of the Right to Motherhood" and "Arbour of the Cry for Man," but she said nothing more.

There were two more divisions, a "Powder Room" and an "Arbour of Perversity." This she did not understand.

"Now we'll go to the Criminal Side," said Mr. Kellermann, and led her diagonally across the room, making way for her among the people, who at her approach began to nod and hum and buzz, but with no trace of malice or contempt. The very reverse. It was an ovation, a suppressed demonstration of her triumph.

Her breast expanded. A faint, humble sensation of happiness stole over her body like hot wine. She threw back her scarf. She no longer needed to feel ashamed of her bare throat and shoulders. In the looks turned upon her she read that no one would scoff at her.

She did not succeed in reaching the Criminal Side. So many gentlemen wanted to be presented to her that Mr. Kellermann had all he could do telling off their names.

From now on the carnival became something absolutely unreal, a dream land, a fairy meadow, on which strange, large-eyed flowers were blooming and sweet scents set heads a-reeling, and a haze sparkled with red suns; where people laughed and jested and whispered, where bold, unheard-of compliments floated in the air, and everything existed for Lilly to caress and admire and love.

Yes, she loved them all, the men and the women, as soon as she met them.

They were all good, n.o.ble souls, scintillating with delightful conceits and ready to perform friendly services. Each awakened a new hope, each brought a new joy.

She felt how her cheeks glowed, what blissful intoxication was burning in her eyes. And he at whom she looked with those eyes would quiver, and respond with a gleam from his own, which seemed to be the reflection of her happiness.

That was no longer another strange Lilly, who laughed and returned jest with jest and went from arm to arm with a faint pang of regret. That was she herself, doubly, triply herself.

Sometimes, when a gentleman became too bold in his talk, when an unlicenced _double entendre_ seemed to lurk behind a joke, and Lilly became nervous and did not know what to say and involuntarily looked around for help, she always found her friend somewhere near at hand, glancing over at her as if by mere chance.

That gave her a delicious sense of peace, a consciousness of being cared for and hidden away, so that she could be even merrier than before, and need not take offence at audacities.

Once she overheard behind her:

"Who's the lucky dog who has her for his mistress?"

The answer was:

"A little polished Mr. Snooks. There he stands."

This made her stop and think a moment, though she could not know to whom it referred. But in the whirl of incidents it soon pa.s.sed from her mind.

Oh, what people she met!

There were young blades in dress suits and white flowered waistcoats, who paid her mad court, and asked, as if casually, though their eagerness was visible under the nonchalance of their exterior: "What is your day at home?"

Alas, she had no day at home. She lived a very retired life.

There were sombre philosophers, who agonised over the world's pain, wore very long hair and monstrous neckties. They spoke to Lilly of "spiritual high pressure" and the "specific gravity of related individualities,"

themes which did Lilly's soul good. One of them kept addressing her as "Your Excellency." When she asked him why, he looked staggered and said he had heard she was--then he broke off and subst.i.tuted the paltry joke that she so "excelled" all the women present he could find no more suitable t.i.tle.

One of the men was an exuberant old high liver, whose name she had read with awe on many a beautiful picture. She would rather have kissed the hem of his garment than see him dance about her comically trying to be youthful.

There were many others who aroused her curiosity; but she could learn nothing of their rank or character.

The company even boasted a real prince, a pale, blond, very young man, who did not venture to ask to be introduced to Lilly, because his love was always in threatening proximity. So he kept making detours about her.

The women, of course, were more distant than the men, though those of them who came to make her acquaintance gave themselves up to her with effusive warmth.

One was a beautiful, voluptuous brunette with unsteady, glowing eyes and a smile betokening wild abandon.

"We must get to know each other," she said. "I will introduce you to my friend, and later we'll take supper together like a cosy little family."

Another was an extremely slim young woman with bright blue eyes, who towered above most of the men. She wandered through the throng serene and unconcerned in a long, white silk secession robe, looking like a phantom. She spoke without moving her head and smiled without drawing her lips. She had come from Denmark to study painting and at the same time "live life," as she expressed it.

"Who are you?" she asked Lilly. "You are different from the rest. The woman who comes here and does not want to be swept along in the current must have strong arms."

She boldly threw back the wide sleeves of her gown as far as her shoulders and exposed two lily-white, wonderfully curved arms, gleaming like marble pillars.

Thereupon she wandered further.

The third was an extremely light-haired, very elegant woman, no longer young. Her pretty, good-humoured face was tanned by the open air. With a merry flash of her eyes she held out her hand to Lilly, as if they were old acquaintances.

"Oh, how sweet and lovely you are!" she said softly. "We have all flown here and don't know how. But where do _you_ come from? My name is ----"

she mentioned the name of a great musician who in Kilian Czepanek's home had been revered as semi-divine.

"Yes, Welter's former wife--that's who I am," she added gaily, and turned to the gentleman on whose arm she had walked up to Lilly.

"Another general's wife, like myself," thought Lilly, looking after her.