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Updated: May 9, 2025
"I grow happier every moment. I shouldn't have liked Elsa to cut herself another slice." Coralie laughed, sniffed the roses I had brought, and laughed again, as she said: "In fact I do. I remember it now. I didn't mean to be rude; it came natural to do it; as if the piece had fallen on the floor, you know." Evidently Struboff had analyzed his wife's feelings very correctly.
Baron, Baron, pray take Struboff's arm; the steps to heaven are so steep." Struboff seemed resigned to his fate; he allowed himself to be pushed upstairs without expostulation. He opened the door for us, and ushered us into the passage. As he preceded us, I had time for one whisper to Wetter. "You're still mad about her, are you?" I said, pinching his arm. "Still? Good Heavens, no!
"What are you still playing for?" she called to Struboff. "Let him play," said I. "Perhaps he would rather play than sup." "It's very likely," Coralie admitted with a shrug. Struboff looked at me for a moment, and nodded solemnly. He was playing low now, giving a plaintive turn to the music that had been joyful. "No, you shall try it once again," cried Wetter, leaping up. "Once again!
True, I did not seem to myself much like Struboff. There was no comfort in that; Struboff did not seem to himself much like what he was. "Am I repulsive, am I loathsome?" he cried indignantly, and my diplomacy could answer only, "What a question, my dear M. Struboff!"
Supper was spread on a table at the other end of the room. When Struboff tried to rise, Wetter thrust him back into his seat. "No, no, the King doesn't want to talk to you," he said. "He wants to hear madame sing, to hear you play. Coralie, come and sing again, and, for God's sake sing it as if it meant something, dear Coralie." "It's such nonsense," said Coralie, with a pouting smile. "Nonsense?
He was Coralie's career; the analogy of my own relation toward Elsa urged that he who is a career is entitled to civility. Was not I Elsa's Struboff? I broke into a sudden laugh; it passed as a tribute to Wetter's acid correction. "You are studying here in Paris, madame?" I asked. "Yes," said Coralie. "Why else should we be here now?" "Why else should I be here now?" asked Wetter.
I laid my hand on Wetter's shoulder, saying: "My dear friend, have you forgotten me Baron de Neberhausen?" He looked up with a start, but when he saw me his eyes softened. He clasped my hand. "Neberhausen?" he said. "Yes; we met in Forstadt." "To be sure," he laughed. "May I present my friend to you? M. le Baron de Neberhausen, M. Struboff. You will know Struboff's name.
Then it needs all your efforts. As if as if, I say it meant something." Varvilliers, laughing, flung himself on a sofa. I stood at the end of the piano, Wetter was gesticulating and muttering on the hearthrug. Struboff put his fingers on the keys again and began to play; after a sigh of weariness Coralie uplifted her voice. It came fresh and full; the weariness was of the spirit only.
I saw the absurdity of it at once, in the light of my recent discoveries. Was God shamed because Struboff was miserable, because Coralie was serenely selfish, because Wetter was tempestuous beyond rescue? I smiled at all these questions, and proceeded to the inference that the exquisite satisfaction of my own cravings was probably not an inherent part of the divine purpose.
To be empty, to be thirsty, to be cold these are evils. Was ever any man, well-fed, well-drunk, and well-warmed, really miserable? Reflect before you answer, Struboff." He drained a glass of champagne, and, I suppose, reflected. "If he had his piano also " he began. "Great Heavens!" I interrupted with a laugh. Coralie turned from Wetter and fixed her eyes on her husband.
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