Cousin Markwald had been trimming things on his plate. "An early retirement," he said.
"He's not looking to me for a job?" said Grandpapa.
"No, no," said Sarah.
"Felden?" said Friedrich. "Felden? It wouldn't be that whippersnapper who did the dirty work for old Bernin in the Kultus-MinisteriumV
"Politics?" said Edu. "Oh I shouldn't think so. Any rate, he's always lived in Spain as far as I can make out, and in France."
"Wise man," said Emil.
"Don't eat so much pate de foie gras, Emil," said Grandpapa.
"Nobody thinks of their gall bladders," said Cousin Markwald.
"It is very nice pate de foie gras today," said Grand-mama.
"As far as you can make out, Edu?" said Friedrich. "You haven't made out much."
"The child's too young," said Emil.
"We should all like a good deal more information," said Cousin Markwald.
"He is a very nice-looking young man," said Grand-mama. "Melanie has his picture."
"A very good-looking young couple, ma'am," said Gottlieb.
"They must all live here," said Grandmama; "not miles away in the country like Edu and Sarah."
Friedrich usually looked in on Jeanne on his way home to lunch from his morning hour at the law courts. Jeanne was then still running her hat shop in the Nollendorf Strasse. It had one window and was reticently named modes & chapeaux.
When Friedrich came in Jeanne sent out the girl to get her dinner, and herself pulled down the shutter.
"Poor Melanie," she said.
"It must have been quick work."
"What did you say his name was?"
Friedrich told her.
"Jules Felden?"
"I believe so."
"Not Le Beau Jules? That's what they called him in Paris. A friend of mine knew him very well. You may have heard of her? Nelly de la Turbie."
"Sarah does have the most extraordinary friends," said Friedrich.
"He's written to me to engage rooms for him," said Edu. "He says they must be well heated. Well heated underlined. In May. Where does he think this is? Siberia?"
"Edu—I have misgivings."
"He's not going to bring that woman?"
"Worse," said Sarah.
The journey—first class, couchettes—had been long and ruinous. First they had been wildly excited by the train and everything in it; then they had become bored, then fretful, then furious, then fretful again. At each stage they had dismantled something in their compartments. The boy who generally looked after them had gone to get himself a beer and got left behind at Strasbourg.
Edu, on the platform, found Julius impeccable but wan. Julius had had very little sleep and he had had to pay a great many large tips quite often. Nor did he appear free now to leave the station. The porter collected the luggage —half a dozen leather suitcases, some baby chairs and a
net with grubby toys—and settled down to wait. He was whistling.
The conductor handed Julius over to a swelling concourse of officials. Robert offered to shake hands with them. He was ignored.
"Can I not pay now?" said Julius. "I am willing to, you J know."
"The forms have to be filled in."
"You see I am so afraid they might catch cold. They are not used to this climate."
He was pressed onward. He was carrying Leon and holding Robert by the hand. Tzara had linked arms with Edu. Edu felt a fool.
"Do up your coats," said Julius. "They lost their scarves. Actually," he said in French to Edu, "they threw them out of the window at Dresden because the trolley man wouldn't let them have his oranges."
"Das Reichseisenbahnhofsvorstandsamt — bitte sehr, mein Herr."
"In here?" said Julius.
They were kept standing.
There was a row of tables; officials sat behind them. All were writing.
"Sir," said Julius, "may I ask you to be so very kind as to deal with us at once? We've come such a very long way, you see."
The head official took off his pince-nez; looked at Julius; put the pince-nez on again and went back to writing.
"Really," said Julius.
Edu gave him an imploring look. "Entschuldigen Sie vielmals, Herr Bahnhofsvorstand," he said.
"Now if you will only be good a little longer, you'll be in your own nice beds with a glass of delicious hot milk," said Julius.
Leon whimpered.
"Name?" someone said quite suddenly from behind a desk.
"Your name," said Edu.
"Geboren?" "Geburtsort?"
"Vatersname?"
"Beruf?"
"Mutter?"
They took an inventory of the damages.
Item) 2 Gas Globes, property of the Kaiserlich-und-Konigliche Deutsche Eisenbahnverwaltung: smashed;
Item) 6 Glass Cylinders, type 4B, property of the said Company: smashed;
Item) 1 Porcelain Wash-Basin with Lid, property of
the Mittel-Europaeische Schlafwagen Gesell-schaft: smashed;
Item) 1 Water-Bottle & 2 Tooth-Mugs, property of the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons Restaurants: smashed;
Item) 1 Enamelled Notice-Plate marked VERBOTEN, property of the Preussische Staats-Eisenbahm: defaced.
Many pens laboured. There was a play of rubber stamps.
"You will hear from us in due course," the head official said. "You will not leave Berlin, or change your address without previous notice to the Police. And you will sign here—and here. And here. Now the duplicates. Then you may go." He looked up and over his lenses saw what Edu had already followed with a sinking heart. Robert had installed himself behind a desk. He had rigged himself a
pince-nez and built a stack of dossiers; he wore a pen behind his ear, gripped an ink pencil, and was punctuating an imaginary interview with a neat staccato of rubber stamps. For an improvisation, it was a creditable performance.
"Oh Robert," said Julius, "you must not play with other people's things. How often have I told you."
The head official had risen. Everyone else stood up too.
"He's only a poor monkey," Julius said. "He only did it because he is tired."
They obtained permission to send for Friedrich. They sent for him by messenger and the pneumatic post. Fried-rich came and brought a lawyer. The lawyer tried to explain to Julius the nature of the charge. Friedrich and Julius were introduced. Julius took him to be Melanie's uncle, and persisted with that notion. His mother and sister, Friedrich said, had been expecting him for four o'clock coffee. Friedrich pulled his watch; Julius and Edu pulled theirs. He must have some brandy and milk for Leon, Julius said; the flask was in his luggage. The lawyer arranged for bail.
They drove to the street with the ornate stucco fronts where Edu had engaged a suite of rooms. A good address, he said. The caretaker tried to bar their entrance; on a landing a woman made a shrill fuss. Edu's horses, long ago, had been sent home. They retreated to the hired cab.
"Palast Hotel," said Edu.
They were not admitted.
"Fiirstenhof," said Edu.
The Fiirstenhof was full up.
"Try the Esplanade," said Edu.
They drove through the Tiergarten. It was May and it was still light. Julius did not like the look of the trees. "Nine years," he said, "I have not been to Germany for nine years."
They were civil at the Hotel Esplanade. "Bedauren sehr, meine Herren, bedauren . . ." But they would not take them in.
"They are as clean as we are," Julius said. "Cleaner. It is true that they cannot take a bath. But they groom themselves all the time, and I brush them with a special powder. It makes their coats so fresh. They never sleep with their windows shut, and they will not eat cooked food."
Edu knew of a discreet private hotel Unter-den-Zelten by the river. They rattled down the Sieges Allee in the twilight. Julius looked at the statuary with distaste. "What are these large plaster figures for?" he said. "Is it some festival?"
The Kings of Prussia, Edu said; and it was marble.
The private hotel did not take them in. They drove up the Linden to the Bristol; they drove to the Bellevue, the Europa, the Gross-Britanien and the Hotel de Russie. They drove to the Deutsche-Hof.
Tzara was asleep on Julius's shoulder. Robert lolled, Leon was crying.
They drove to the Mohren Strasse and tried a number of nameless places.
"Affen?" said the matron, "Jotte dock, det verjrault mir ja die Kundschaft."
It was dark at last, but there were plenty of bright street lamps. "We shall have to go home again," said Julius.
"You don't suppose they would let you on another train?" said Edu.
They tried the Potsdamer Station Hotel and the An-halter Station Hotel; they tried the Gasthaus zum Schwar-zen Adler and the Gasthaus zum Bosen Hirsch. They were refused at Haus Temperanz-Blaukreuz and at the Christ-liche Deutsche Jung-Manner Verbandt.
The cabbie poked his head in. "You ought to try the Kaiserhof," he said, "that's where all those foreign Emperors and Sultans go. Had the Shah of Persia there last year. They're used to harems and blacks."
"He may be right," said Edu.
The red carpet was out for the Dowager Queen of Saxony. The chief reception clerk returned Robert's bow. They were taken up in the service lift.
Julius rang for the room waiter. "I must leave you now," Edu said, "it's too late for you to see Papa tonight. You had better speak to him in the morning."
"Speak about what?" said Julius.
Melanie, dressed in a way that was picked on by her relatives, waited for him all evening.
In the morning Edu went to the hotel to fetch Julius. The boy had not arrived. Julius explained that he could not go out.
"The servants here do not seem to be kind."
Edu inquired what he was to tell his parents.
Julius said, "You see, it is only because of Robert. Robert has a difficult nature. He is his own worst enemy."
The boy remained lost for several days. Edu and Fried-rich did the telegraphing. Grandpapa was persuaded to call at the Kaiserhof. Julius had just wangled an anthracite stove, the management having refused to relight the central plant. Julius himself suffered, but Grandpapa found it as warm as his own house. The chimpanzees too, comfortable for the first time, were in an amiable mood; Robert poured Madeira, and Tzara showed an interest in the old gentleman. He gave her a gold piece, and he went home impressed.
"As good as the Opera," he described at luncheon. "The Opera in the old days."
"There was no message?" said Melanie.
At last the boy turned up.
Julius arrived at Voss Strasse; went up the carpeted stairs; walked through the anterooms. Gottlieb rolled back another door: "Frau Geheimrat—our bridegroom!"
Julius came upon Melanie in the Berlin drawing room standing by her mother's chair. The walls were chocolate-brown, embossed; the upholstery magenta; the morning gaslight was burning in the chandeliers. Melanie coloured, smiled, stepped forward with perfect grace. She raised her eyes to him; Julius returned the greeting, but he could only see the house.
Cousin Markwald joined them, and Emil. Presently Grandpapa came in with Friedrich. Each shook hands with Julius, then made for a particular chair.
Grandmama remained spread in hers. "Looks older than his picture," she said.
He was pressed to stay for luncheon. He found he was expected to sit with Grandpapa after it; expected to eat cake with the old lady; expected to chat with members of the family returning from their naps; expected to come back for dinner.
"And what do you do with yourself all day in the South of France?" said Markwald.
"I was there nine weeks," said Melanie.
"Does he play grabuge?" said her mother.
"He knows every card game."
"I believe my grandfather played it," said Julius.
"Hardly a man's game," said Markwald.
Gottlieb and a footman carried in the box; Melanie and Gottlieb settled down to shuffling an improbable number of black cards. Grabuge is a game played by two people with one hundred and twenty-eight packs every single card of which is a spade. It is a kind of giant demon, an immensely elaborate simple game; and it takes all afternoon.
"Opposite me," said Grandmama. Julius sat down; but it was found that he could not play. "I will teach you," Grandmama said, but proving almost at once unequal to the task, relinquished it to Gottlieb.
"What's new, Friedrich?" said his father.
"Friedrich goes to the city every day," said Grandmama.
While her partner was learning, she availed herself of several successive turns and managed to make good progress.
"Consols are down, Papa."
"Always are."
"Why do people never cease complaining about consols?" said Emil. "Yet they appear to have them. Is it a law?"
"It is a safe rule to keep a third of one's investments in that kind of securities," said Friedrich.
"Does Baron Felden agree?" Markwald called across the room. "Do you go in much for consols, Baron?"
"It sounds an excellent idea," said Julius.
"Someone is speaking well of consols," said Uncle Emil.
"Someone who does not appear to have them," said his cousin.
"Jules bought such a lovely statue," said Melanie.
"I found it in a church."
"Church?" said Grandmama and Markwald.
"What did I tell you!" said Grandpapa.
"It was in bad condition," said Julius.
"The French are getting above themselves in Morocco," said Friedrich.
"Morocco?" said Grandmama.
"Leather, ma'am."
"Ah yes. . . ."
"White houses," said Julius. "All white. The Arab houses, at Fez. So beautiful." Julius had become emancipated from his instructor, and Melanie had taken the place by his side.
"How is Leon?"
"Not at all well. I must ask your uncle when he thinks that charge is going to be cleared up."
"The case is going to be heard before the 3rd Kammer-gericht/' said Friedrich. "Not this Sessions, though."
"Melanie's fiance insulted a policeman," said Grandmama.
"It was not his fault," said Melanie.
"And you always go to Paris in the spring, Baron?" said Emil, whistling very gently a passage from La Belle Helene.
Grandpapa took it up more loudly. He always recognized Offenbach.