"Good-evening,"said the Herr Professor,squeezing my hand;"wonderful weather!I have just returned from a party in the wood.I have been ****** music for them on my trombone.You know,these pine-trees provide most suitable accompaniment for a trombone!They are sighing delicacy against sustained strength,as I remarked once in a lecture on wind instruments in Frankfort.May I be permitted to sit beside you on this bench,gnadige Frau?"He sat down,tugging at a white-paper package in the tail pocket of his coat.
"Cherries,"he said,nodding and smiling."There is nothing like cherries for producing free saliva after trombone playing,especially after Grieg's 'Ich Liebe Dich.'Those sustained blasts on 'liebe'make my throat as dry as a railway tunnel.Have some?"He shook the bag at me.
"I prefer watching you eat them."
"Ah,ha!"He crossed his legs,sticking the cherry bag between his knees,to leave both hands free."Psychologically I understood your refusal.It is your innate feminine delicacy in preferring etherealised sensations.Or perhaps you do not care to eat the worms.All cherries contain worms.
Once I made a very interesting experiment with a colleague of mine at the university.We bit into four pounds of the best cherries and did not find one specimen without a worm.But what would you?As I remarked to him afterwards--dear friend,it amounts to this:if one wishes to satisfy the desires of nature one must be strong enough to ignore the facts of nature.The conversation is not out of your depth?I have so seldom the time or opportunity to open my heart to a woman that I am apt to forget."I looked at him brightly.
"See what a fat one!"cried the Herr Professor."That is almost a mouthful in itself;it is beautiful enough to hang from a watch-chain."He chewed it up and spat the stone an incredible distance--over the garden path into the flower bed.He was proud of the feat.I saw it."The quantity of fruit I have eaten on this bench,"he sighed;"apricots,peaches and cherries.One day that garden bed will become an orchard grove,and Ishall allow you to pick as much as you please,without paying me anything."I was grateful,without showing undue excitement.
"Which reminds me"--he hit the side of his nose with one finger--"the manager of the pension handed me my weekly bill after dinner this evening.
It is almost impossible to credit.I do not expect you to believe me--he has charged me extra for a miserable little glass of milk I drink in bed at night to prevent insomnia.Naturally,I did not pay.But the tragedy of the story is this:I cannot expect the milk to produce somnolence any longer;my peaceful attitude of mind towards it is completely destroyed.Iknow I shall throw myself into a fever in attempting to plumb this want of generosity in so wealthy a man as the manager of a pension.Think of me to-night."--he ground the empty bag under his heel--"think that the worst is happening to me as your head drops asleep on your pillow."Two ladies came on the front steps of the pension and stood,arm in arm,looking over the garden.The one,old and scraggy,dressed almost entirely in black bead trimming and a satin reticule;the other,young and thin,in a white gown,her yellow hair tastefully garnished with mauve sweet peas.
The Professor drew in his feet and sat up sharply,pulling down his waistcoat.
"The Godowskas,"he murmured."Do you know them?A mother and daughter from Vienna.The mother has an internal complaint and the daughter is an actress.Fraulein Sonia is a very modern soul.I think you would find her most sympathetic.She is forced to be in attendance on her mother just now.But what a temperament!I have once described her in her autograph album as a tigress with a flower in the hair.Will you excuse me?Perhaps I can persuade them to be introduced to you."I said,"I am going up to my room."But the Professor rose and shook a playful finger at me."Na,"he said,"we are friends,and,therefore,Ishall speak quite frankly to you.I think they would consider it a little 'marked'if you immediately retired to the house at their approach,after sitting here alone with me in the twilight.You know this world.Yes,you know it as I do."I shrugged my shoulders,remarking with one eye that while the Professor had been talking the Godowskas had trailed across the lawn towards us.
They confronted the Herr Professor as he stood up.
"Good-evening,"quavered Frau Godowska."Wonderful weather!It has given me quite a touch of hay fever!"Fraulein Godowska said nothing.She swooped over a rose growing in the embryo orchard then stretched out her hand with a magnificent gesture to the Herr Professor.He presented me.
"This is my little English friend of whom I have spoken.She is the stranger in our midst.We have been eating cherries together.""How delightful,"sighed Frau Godowska."My daughter and I have often observed you through the bedroom window.Haven't we,Sonia?"Sonia absorbed my outward and visible form with an inward and spiritual glance,then repeated the magnificent gesture for my benefit.The four of us sat on the bench,with that faint air of excitement of passengers established in a railway carriage on the qui vive for the train whistle.
Frau Godowska sneezed."I wonder if it is hay fever,"she remarked,worrying the satin reticule for her handkerchief,"or would it be the dew.
Sonia,dear,is the dew falling?"
Fraulein Sonia raised her face to the sky,and half closed her eyes."No,mamma,my face is quite warm.Oh,look,Herr Professor,there are swallows in flight;they are like a little flock of Japanese thoughts--nicht wahr?""Where?"cried the Herr Professor."Oh yes,I see,by the kitchen chimney.
