Frederick went to his cabin and removed the grey suit he had worn in
the purgatory of the stoke-hole. He put on striped trousers, a black
waistcoat, and black frock coat. By the time he appeared in the
dining-room, a lively procession of brilliant toilettes was already
making its way there. Almost all the ladies of the first class came
rustling in. Frederick from his seat observed that many of them had
to stop for an instant at the doorway to pluck up their courage. Then,
with a charmingly humorous smile, they would conquer their dread of
seasickness, particularly threatening in the dining-room, and step over
the threshold.
Save for the slight quiver that ran through the walls and ceilings of the
whole vessel, its motion was scarcely perceptible. The music began, and
the swarm of stewards in livery, who came hurrying in, could serve each
guest with a full plate of soup without need of balancing.
"A full-dress dinner," said the captain with a contented glance about the
room as he seated himself.
Fish was already being served when Ingigerd entered on the arm of the
very ungainly and very ordinary looking Achleitner. At the sight of her
absurd get-up, Frederick felt like sinking through the floor. The barber
had piled her beautiful light hair into a fearful mountain of puffs, and
about her narrow shoulders she wore a Spanish shawl, as if to represent
Carmen--a very pitiful Carmen, who provoked jeers and jibes from one end
of the table to the other.
"What deadly green stockings!" Frederick thought, as he choked down a
piece of fish with the bones in it.
"Why in the name of sense does she wear those bronze slippers?"
"Some chalk, please, for the lady," said one man. "She is going to dance
the tight rope for us."
Mischievous looks and remarks flew about the table. Both the ladies and
the gentlemen choked over their fish or wine and had to hold their
napkins to their lips. Not all of their remarks were pronounced _sotto
voce_, and among the card players, who were again drinking champagne, the
jokes aimed at Ingigerd and Achleitner were particularly loud and coarse.
Could Frederick believe his eyes? Terror shot to his heart. That sad
little monstrosity was walking toward him--stood next to him in
compromising intimacy--was saying poutingly:
"When are you going to pay me a visit again?"
Frederick made some inconsequential reply.
Necks in standing collars, bare throats encircled with gold chains and
pearls turned toward the captain's table. Frederick could not recall ever
having had an experience so painfully humiliating. Ingigerd saw nothing
and felt nothing. Achleitner, however, seemed to be rather ill at ease
under the perceptible cross-fire of the animated company, and tried to
lead her away. Finally, she left the tortured man, saying:
"My, you're dull and stupid! I don't like you." At which the captain's
corner burst into a prolonged laugh, which was a relief to everybody's
but Frederick's feelings.
"I assure you," said Frederick, with a tolerable attempt at dry irony, "I
don't know what I have done to deserve this distinction, or what I shall
do to deserve it in the future."
Then they spoke of other things.
The clear weather and the prospect of a peaceful night filled the festive
diners with undimmed gaiety. They ate, they drank, they laughed, they
flirted, all in the delightful consciousness that they were citizens of
the departing nineteenth century, with the probability of being citizens
of the even grander twentieth century.