Crammon and Johanna Schöntag were sitting in a drawing-room of the
hotel. They had had dinner together. Johanna’s companion, Fräulein
Grabmeier, had already retired.
“You must be patient, Rumpelstilzkin,” said Crammon. “I’m sorry to say
that he hasn’t bitten yet. The bait is still in the water.”
“I’ll be patient, my lord,” said Johanna, in her slightly rough,
boyish voice, and a gleam of merriment, in which charm and ugliness
were strangely blended, passed over her face. “I don’t find it very
hard either. Everything is sure to go wrong with me in the end. If
ever unexpectedly a wish of mine is fulfilled, and something I looked
forward to does happen, I’m as wretched as I can be, because it’s never
as nice as I thought it would be. The best thing for me, therefore, is
to be disappointed.”
“You’re a problematic soul,” said Crammon musingly.
Johanna gave a comical sigh. “I advise you, dear friend and protector,
to get rid of me by return post.” She stretched her thin little neck
with an intentionally bizarre movement. “I simply interfere with
the traffic. I’m a personified evil omen. At my birth a lady by the
name of Cassandra appeared, and I needn’t tell you the disagreeable
things that have been said of her. You remember how when we were at
target practice at Ashburnhill I hit the bull’s-eye. Everybody was
amazed, yourself included; but I more so than any one, because it was
pure, unadulterated chance. The rifle had actually gone off before
I had taken aim. Fate gives me such small and worthless gifts, in
order to seem friendly and lull me into security. But I’m not to be
deceived. Ugh! A nun, a nun!” she interrupted herself. Her eyes became
very large, as she looked into the garden where an Ursuline nun was
passing by. Then she crossed her arms over her bosom, and counted with
extraordinary readiness: “Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.”
Then she laughed, and showed two rows of marvellous teeth.
“Is it your custom to do that whenever a nun appears?” Crammon asked.
His interest in superstitions was aroused.
“It’s the proper ritual to follow. But she was gone before I came to
one, and that augurs no good. By the way, dear baron, your sporting
terminology sounds suspicious. What does that mean: ‘he hasn’t
bitten yet; the bait is still in the water’? I beg you to restrain
yourself. I’m an unprotected girl, and wholly dependent on your
delicate chivalry. If you shake my tottering self-confidence by any
more reminiscences of the sporting world, I’ll have to telegraph for
two berths on the Vienna train. For myself and Fräulein Grabmeier, of
course.”
She loved these daring little implications, from which she could
withdraw quite naïvely. Crammon burst into belated laughter, and that
fact stirred her merriment too.
She was very watchful, and nothing escaped her attentive eyes. She took
a burning interest in the characters and actions of people. She leaned
toward Crammon and they whispered together, for he could tell a story
about each form and face that emerged from the crowd. The chronicle
of international biography and scandal of which he was master was
inexhaustible. If ever his memory failed him, he invented or poetized
a little. He had everything at his tongue’s end--disputes concerning
inheritances, family quarrels, illegitimate descent, adulteries,
relationships of all sorts. Johanna listened to him with a smile. She
peered at all the tables and carefully observed every uncommon detail.
She picked up and pinned down, as an entomologist does his beetles, any
chance remark or roguish expression, any silliness or peculiarity of
any of these unconscious actors of the great world or the half world.
Suddenly the pupils of her greyish blue eyes grew very large, and
her lips curved in a bow of childlike delight. “Who is that?” she
whispered, and thrust her chin out a little in the direction of a door
at Crammon’s back. But she at once knew instinctively who it was. She
would have known it without the general raising of heads and softening
of voices, of which she became aware.
Crammon turned around and saw Eva amid a group of ladies and gentlemen.
He arose, waited until Eva glanced in his direction, and then bowed
very low. Eva drew back a little. She had not seen him since the days
of Denis Lay. She thought a little, and nodded distantly. Then she
recognized him, kicked back her train with an incomparable grace, and,
speaking in every line before her lips moved, went up to him.
Johanna had arisen too. Eva remarked the little figure. She gave
Crammon to understand that he had a duty toward his companion, and that
she would not refuse an introduction to the unknown girl, on whose
face enthusiasm and homage were so touchingly to be seen. Crammon
introduced Johanna in his most ceremonious manner. Johanna grew pale
and red and curtsied. She seemed to herself suddenly so negligible that
she was overcome with shame. Then she tore off the three yellow roses
at her corsage, and held them out to Eva with a sudden and yet timid
gesture. Eva liked this impulse. She felt its uniqueness and veracity,
and therefore knew its value.