The arrival of the Argentinian caused a commotion among the guests of
the house of Wahnschaffe. He had exotic habits. He pressed the hands
of the ladies to whom he was presented with such vigour that they
suppressed a cry of pain. Whenever he came down the stairs he stopped
a few steps from the bottom, swung himself over the balustrade like an
acrobat, and went on as though this were the most natural thing in the
world. He had presented the countess with a Pekingese dog, and whenever
he met the animal he tweaked its ear so that it howled horribly. And
he did not do that merrily or with a smile, but in a dry, businesslike
manner.
Among the numerous trunks that he brought with him, one was arranged
in the form of a travelling pharmacy. Screwed down tightly in
neat compartments there were all possible mixtures, powders, and
medicaments; there were little boxes, tubes, jars, and glasses. If any
one complained of indisposition, he at once pointed out the appropriate
remedy in his trunk, and recommended it urgently.
Felix Imhof had taken an enthusiastic fancy to him. Whenever he could
get hold of him, he took him aside, and questioned him regarding his
country, his plans and undertakings, his outer and his inner life.
Judith, who was jealous, resented this bitterly. She made scenes for
the benefit of Felix, and reproached Letitia for her failure to absorb
Stephen Gunderam’s attention.
Letitia was astonished, and her eyes grew large. With innocent coquetry
she asked: “What can I do about it?”
Judith’s answer was cynical. “One must study to please the men.”
She hated the Argentinian. Yet when she was alone with him she sought
to ensnare him. Had it been possible to alienate him from Letitia, she
would have done so out of sheer insatiableness.
Her eyes glittered with a constant and secret desire. She went to the
theatre with Imhof, Letitia, and Stephen to see Edgar Lorm in “The
Jewess of Toledo.” The applause which was so richly given to the actor
stirred the very depth of her soul and filled it with more piercing
desire. But whether she desired the man or the artist, his art or his
fame, she was herself unable to tell.
She waited impatiently for Crammon, of whose friendship with Lorm she
had heard. He was to bring the actor to the house with him. She was
accustomed to have all men come after whom she cast her hook. They
usually bit, were served up, and then enjoyed in proportion to their
excellence of flavour. The household consumption of people was large.
But Crammon and Christian did not return until Lorm’s visit to
Frankfort was over. So Judith fell into an evil mood, and tormented all
about her without reason. Had her wish been fulfilled, her flickering
soul, that needed ever new nourishment, might have been calmed. Now she
buried herself stubbornly in the thought of what had passed by her.