“I beg you, Gina, come, come along—I can’t bear any more!” I stammered.
She hesitated. “Unescorted and alone—to a night-restaurant?”
“What does it matter?”
“Better have made an appointment—somewhere—with Mr. Imszanski....”
Then I burst into laughter. “Unescorted? Ha, ha, ha!” I roared, as we
got into a four-wheeler. “Forgive me, but even so,—I fancy neither of us
has much to lose!
“To Lipka’s? I will not. No, I entreat you. No memories of things gone
by—A hotel, any hotel!—or a first-rate night-restaurant.—Fast! As fast
as horses can go! Faster, faster!”
Off they went, the great black half-starved horses. A few street-lamps
flashed by in the dark night. A few jolts from the rubber-tired wheels
made us sway about: and again it is all bright around. Oh! how I am
tortured!
A cold blast blows, muddy pools splash, a drizzling rain sets in.... Oh,
yes, yes; all this is very real: fact, not fiction.
Now a brilliantly lit doorway is before us; now a staircase, adorned
with flowers and mirrors....
Gina was eyeing me in astonishment, but she said not one word. She no
doubt could not guess what had come over me; but, in her state of mind,
the strangest occurrence must have seemed quite commonplace. And then,
she no longer felt so much alone in her distress; beside my madness her
state of tearful dejection seemed but a small matter.
The great saloon was filled as usual with specimens of the _jeunesse
dorée_, with financiers, and with courtesans. We attracted a good deal
of attention. I had assumed the gay mien of a girl desperately bent on
fun, and looked about on all sides, with lively glances at
everybody.—Several men spoke to me.
In the passage on to which the doors of the private supper-rooms opened,
we were met by a young but full-grown satyr, who slipped his arm under
mine, and looked into my face. And yet I did not cease to laugh. It was
revenge I craved—debauch—oblivion of all!
Gina’s terrified looks were expostulating with me.
“We have nothing to lose,” I returned to their speechless appeal. And
thereupon she too fell a-laughing strangely.
The creature whose arm was in mine kept chattering incessantly ... about
I know not what. A waiter respectfully opened the door of a small
private room, and we all three went in.
“I presume, ladies, you have been at the play?” our gentleman inquired,
having remarked the dresses we wore.
“Ha, ha!” I answered. “Right you are. Been at one play, and come to
another.” There was not less coarse ribaldry in my tones than in my
words.
“That’s first-rate.—The bill of fare, waiter!—What will you take?”
“To eat, nothing. We want to drink, to drink, to drink!”
“Very good!” he exclaimed, in a tone of pleased surprise. “Coffee and
liqueur—cognac—champagne?”
“All right: anything and everything, my dear man!”
Several bottles were standing on the table. Our companion, having
leisurely prepared a mayonnaise, set to munching the lobster with great
relish, showing his white teeth in a grin.—Gina drank, but was mute.—I
babbled incessantly, endeavouring to pass for a _cocotte_. We were a
puzzle to the young man nevertheless, and his behaviour towards us was
lacking in assurance.
“Do you know, Madame,” he at last blurted out, addressing me, “it will
be better fun if we make a quartette.... I have an acquaintance in the
saloon here: a capital fellow he is.”
Then, turning to Gina: “You also, Madame,” he said, “should have a
little diversion.”