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"Indeed!" said I. "Since when?" "These three days." "And what is he doing?" "He seems," said Niedermeyer, with a laugh, "to be chiefly occupied in sending flowers to Madame Blumenthal. That is, I went with him the morning of his arrival to choose a nosegay, and nothing would suit him but a small haystack of white roses. I hope it was received." "I can assure you it was," I cried.
I was not sorry, for it very soon occurred to me that Niedermeyer would be just the man to give me a fair prose version of Pickering's lyric tributes to his friend. He was an Austrian by birth, and had formerly lived about Europe a great deal in a series of small diplomatic posts. England especially he had often visited, and he spoke the language almost without accent.
"I never said she was a saint!" Shrewd as I felt Niedermeyer to be, I was not prepared to take his simple word for this event, and in the evening I received a communication which fortified my doubts. It was a note from Pickering, and it ran as follows: "My Dear Friend I have every hope of being happy, but I am to go to Wiesbaden to learn my fate.
The boatmen looked at one another and grinned in silence. 'Eh? said Shubin, turning to them, 'the gentlefolks can't sing, you say? The boy in the print shirt only shook his head. 'Wait a little snubnose, retorted Shubin, 'we will show you. Zoya Nikitishna, sing us Le lac of Niedermeyer.
But the matter now was quite out of my hands, and all I could do was to bid my companion not work himself into a fever over either fortune. The next day I had a visit from Niedermeyer, on whom, after our talk at the opera, I had left a card. We gossiped a while, and at last he said suddenly, "By the way, I have a sequel to the history of Clorinda. The major is at Homburg!"
As we took our places I found a letter on my plate, and, as it was postmarked Wiesbaden, I lost no time in opening it. It contained but three lines "I am happy I am accepted an hour ago. I can hardly believe it's your poor friend E. P." I placed the note before Niedermeyer; not exactly in triumph, but with the alacrity of all felicitous confutation.
But she has been admired also by a great many really clever men; there was a time, in fact, when she turned a head as well set on its shoulders as this one!" And Niedermeyer tapped his forehead. "She has a great charm, and, literally, I know no harm of her. Yet for all that, I am not going to speak to her; I am not going near her box.
Madame Blumenthal goes thither this afternoon to spend a few days, and she allows me to accompany her. Give me your good wishes; you shall hear of the result. One of the diversions of Homburg for new-comers is to dine in rotation at the different tables d'hote. It so happened that, a couple of days later, Niedermeyer took pot-luck at my hotel, and secured a seat beside my own.
One has heard "Dal tuo stellato soglio" before, and Niedermeyer insipidities are a little fadé. Sometimes, to complete the imposture, the names of Mendelssohn and Mozart are invoked, and, under cover of doing honor to an immortal composer, a chorus of young people assemble for periodical flirtation. On the whole, it is wise not to attempt too much.
She will read his little story to the end, and close the book very tenderly and smooth down the cover; and then, when he least expects it, she will toss it into the dusty limbo of her other romances. She will let him dangle, but she will let him drop!" "Upon my word," I cried, with heat, "if she does, she will be a very unprincipled little creature!" Niedermeyer shrugged his shoulders.
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