At times she thought she could simply go to him and stay with him. At
times she felt that he would come and get her. One thing or the other
had to take place, she thought.
One Sunday afternoon--it chanced to be her eighteenth birthday--a junior
agent of Jason Philip, a fellow by the name of Pfefferkorn, came to the
house, and in the course of the conversation remarked rather casually
that the elder of the Jordan sisters was engaged to the musician
Nothafft, that the engagement had been kept secret for a while, but that
the wedding was to take place in the immediate future.
"By the way, I hear that the musician is your nephew," said Pfefferkorn
at the close of his report.
Jason Philip cast a gloomy look into space, while Theresa, then sipping
her chicory coffee, set her cup on the table, and looked at the man with
scornful contempt.
Philippina broke out in a laughter that went through them like a knife.
Then she ran from the room, and banged the door behind her. "She seems a
bit deranged," murmured Jason Philip angrily.
Then came that June night on which she did not come home at all. Jason
Philip raged and howled when she returned the next morning; but she was
silent. He locked her up in the cellar for sixteen hours; but she was
silent.
After this she did not leave the house for months at a time; she did not
wash or comb her hair; she sat crouched up in the kitchen with her long,
dishevelled, unwashed hair falling in loose locks down over her neck and
shoulders.
A feeling of consuming vengeance seethed in her heart; the patience she
was forced to practise, much against her will, petrified in time into a
mien of hypocritic sottishness.
Suddenly she took to dressing up again and sauntering through the
streets in the afternoon. Her loud ribbons awakened the mocking laughter
of young and old.
She had learned that Eleanore Jordan was attending the lectures in the
Cultural Club. She went too; she always crowded up close to Eleanore,
but she could not attract her attention. One time she sat right next to
Eleanore. A strolling pastor delivered a lecture on cremation.
Philippina took out her handkerchief, and pressed it to her eyes as
though she were weeping. Eleanore, somewhat concerned, turned to her,
and asked her what was the matter. She said that it was all so sad what
the old gentleman was saying. Eleanore was surprised, for nothing the
speaker had said was sad or in any way likely to bring tears to the eyes
of his auditors.
At the end of the lecture she left the hall with Eleanore. When the
ugly, disagreeable creature told her of the wretchedness of her life,
how she was abused by her parents and brothers, and that there was not a
soul in the world who cared for her, Eleanore was moved. The fact that
Philippina was Daniel's blood cousin made her forget the aversion she
felt, and drew from her a promise to go walking with her on certain
days.
Eleanore kept her promise. She was not in the least disconcerted by the
queer looks cast at her by the people they met. With perfect composure
she walked along by the side of this strapping, quackish young woman
dressed in the oddest garments known to the art of dress-making. At
first they strolled in broad daylight through the park adjoining the
city moat. Later Eleanore arranged to have the walks, which were to take
place two or three times a month, postponed until after sunset.
This was quite agreeable to Philippina. She threw out a hint every now
and then that there was a mysterious feud between the Schimmelweis
family and the Nothaffts, and implored Eleanore never to let Daniel know
that she was taking these walks with her. It was painful to Eleanore to
have Philippina make such requests of her. The lurking manner in which
she would turn the conversation to the affairs of Daniel and Gertrude
had an element of offensive intrusiveness in it. She wanted to know
first this, then that. She even had the impudence to ask about
Gertrude's dowry; and finally she requested that Eleanore bring her
sister along some time when they went walking.
Eleanore came to have a feeling of horror at the sight or thought of
Philippina; she was dismayed too when, despite the darkness, she noticed
the shrewish look of incorrigible wickedness in Philippina's face. An
ineluctable voice put her on her guard. In so far as she could do it
without grievously offending Philippina, she withdrew from further
association with her. And even if she had not promised her absolute
silence, a feeling half of fear and half of shame would have prevented
her from ever mentioning Philippina's name in Daniel's presence.
She never once suspected that Philippina was spying on her. Philippina
soon found out just when, how often, and where Daniel and Eleanore met;
and wherever they went, she followed at a safe distance behind them. Why
she did this she really did not know; something forced her to do it.
What she had succeeded in doing with Eleanore she now wished to do with
Gertrude. She would bob up all of a sudden in the butcher shop, at the
vegetable market, in the dairy, anywhere, stare at Gertrude, act as
though she were intensely interested in something, and make some such
remarks as: "Lord, but beans are dear this year"; or "That is a nasty
wind, it is enough to give you the colic." But Gertrude was far too lost
to the world and much too sensitive about coming in contact with
strangers to pay any attention to her awkward attempts at approach.
"Just wait," thought Philippina, enraged, "the penalty of your arrogance
will some day descend upon your head."
X
On that Monday so fatal for the Jordan family, Philippina had another
violent quarrel with her mother. Theresa was still shrieking, when Jason
Philip came up from the shop to know what could be wrong.
"Don't ask," cried Theresa at the top of her shrill voice, "go teach
your daughter some manners. The wench is going to end up in jail; that's
what I prophesy."
Philippina made a wry face. Jason Philip, however, was little inclined
to play the role of an avenging power: he had something new on the
string; his face was beaming.
"I met Hornbusch," he said, turning to Theresa, "you know him, firm of
Hornbusch heirs, bloody rich they are, and the man tells me that young
Jordan has embezzled some money from the Prudentia and left the country.
I went at once to the Prudentia, and Zittel told me the whole story,
just as I had heard it. It is almost four thousand marks! Jordan has
been requested to make good the deficit; but he hasn't a penny to his
name and is in a mighty tight place, for Diruf is threatening to send
him to jail. You know, Diruf is hard-boiled in matters of this kind.
What do you think of that?"
Theresa wrapped her hands in her apron, and looked at Jason Philip out
of the corner of her eye. She guessed at once the cause of his joy, and
hung her head in silence.
Jason Philip smirked to himself. Leaning up against the Dutch tiles of
the stove, he began to whistle in a happy-go-lucky mood. It was the
"Marseillaise." He whistled it partly out of forgetfulness and partly
from force of habit.
He had not noticed how Philippina had listened to every syllable that
fell from his lips; how she was holding her breath; that her features
were lighted up from within by a terrible flame of fire. He did notice,
however, that she got up at the close of his remarks and left the room
with rustling steps.
Five minutes later she was standing before Jordan's house. She sent a
small boy in with the request that Fraeulein Eleanore come down at once.
The boy came back, and said that Fraeulein Eleanore was not at home. She
took her position by the front gate, and waited.