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Updated: May 20, 2025
They had never been shown that it was just a matter of getting the tongue between the teeth. Miriam herself had only just discovered it. She speculated as to how long it would take her to deliver them up to Fraulein Pfaff with this notorious stumbling-block removed. She was astonished herself at the mechanical simplicity of the cure. How stupid people must be not to discover these things.
She had caught the word "Vorspielen" being bandied about the long tea-table, and had gathered that there was to be an informal playing of "pieces" before Fraulein Pfaff. She welcomed the event. It relieved her from the burden of being in high focus the relief had come as soon as she took her place at the gaslit table. No eye seemed to notice her.
It was all she could do short of gas and curling tongs. Even the candle was taken away in the daytime. It was cold and bleak upstairs. Her wet hair lay in a heavy mass against her burning head. She was painfully hungry. She went down. The snarling rattle of the coffee mill sounded out into the hall. Several voices were speaking together as she entered. Fraulein Pfaff was not there.
Passing languidly up through the house after breakfast, unable to decide to spend her Saturday morning as usual at a piano in one of the bedrooms, Miriam went, wondering in response to a quiet call from Fraulein Pfaff into the large room shared by the Bergmanns and Ulrica Hesse.
Without her hat she had "a charming little head," Minna had said. And that face. Minna had seen how lovely she was and had not minded. Clara was jealous. Her head with a classic knot and no fringe, her worn-looking sallow face.... She would look like a "prisoner at the bar" in some newspaper. How they hated Fraulein Pfaff. The Germans at least.
The service droned quietly and slowly on. Miriam paid no heed to it. She sat in the comforting darkness. The unobserving Germans were all round her, the English girls tailed away invisibly into the distant obscurity. Fraulein Pfaff was not there, nor Mademoiselle. She was alone with the school. She felt safe for a while and derived solace from the reflection that there would always be church.
"I'll come in a second," said Miriam, adjusting hairpins. She was to read Goethe... with Fraulein Pfaff.... Fraulein knew she would be one of the few who would do for a Goethe reading. She reached the little room smiling with happiness. "Here she is," was Fraulein's greeting.
The cessation of the fixed readings arranged with her that first day by Fraulein Pfaff did not, in face of the general absence of method, at all disturb her. Mademoiselle's classes had, she discovered, except for the weekly mending, long since lapsed altogether. These walks, she soon realised, were supposed to be her and her pupils' opportunity.
On examination Pfaff found in the girl's thick pubic hair a loose hair which under the microscope proved to belong to the dog. This has, however, undoubtedly occurred from time to time, even more or less openly. Maschka has referred to such an exhibition between a woman and a bull-dog, which was given to select circles in Paris.
"No," responded Miriam quietly, in joy and fear. Fraulein gave a short laugh. Goaded, Miriam plunged forward. "We were never even allowed in the kitchen at home." "I see. You and your sisters were brought up like Countesses, wie Grafinnen," observed Fraulein Pfaff drily. Miriam's whole body was on fire... "and your sisters and your sisters," echoed through and through her.
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