It was the evening of the following day.

The carriage that was taking Lilly to the dreaded meeting stopped in front of the renowned Linden restaurant which has been the resort of elegant folk for years.

Although it was some time since Lilly had been there, she knew every stone of it.

She knew Albert, too, the tall, dignified porter, who stood in the doorway, and put his hand to his braided cap. It was he who had acted as the go-between for her and the handsome hussar of the guards.

With downcast eyes, pressing close to Konrad, she passed by him, hoping he no longer remembered her.

"This is Lilly, uncle."

An old bow-legged gentleman, slightly under medium size in an ill-fitting jacket and crumpled collar, came shambling out of a back room, and held out a broad, fleshy hand, the brown skin of which played loosely over his bones like a large glove.

Lilly threw a timid glance of scrutiny at the all-powerful person, whom she had pictured to herself as a commanding yet complaisant thunderer. In reality he was a tottering, rotund, somewhat common-looking gnome.

When she told herself that her conduct now and during the next hour would decide Konrad's and her own future, the old miserable timidity, which had not troubled her for some time past, began to paralyse her muscles and turned her into a doll, which smiled inanely and could not tell its own name.

But the old uncle also seemed to have lost his power of speech.

He looked her up and down repeatedly and well-nigh forgot to invite her to enter the back room.

As with everything else about the place Lilly was familiar with this back room, its pressed leather walls, its red silk hangings, and the blue oriental rugs over the high-armed sofa.

In the period when Richard was still possessed of the ambition to belong to the aristocracy of high livers, she had spent many a mad hour there late at night with him and his chance friends.

An immaculate waiter helped her off with her brocade jacket and lace mantilla, and looked at her the while as if to say:

"I ought to know you."

Oh, that was a moment of agony.

The uncle, who had not ceased furtively to cast awed yet sullen glances at Lilly, pulled himself together and said:

"Well, let's have a cosy time together, children. Nice and pleasant, eh?"

Lilly inclined her head.

Her gesture was stiff enough apparently to increase the bow-legged old gentleman's respect. He seemed to be at a loss, and tramped about the room, played with the gold knobs which hung as a charm from his watch pocket, and two or three times nodded his solemn appreciation to Konrad.

They seated themselves at the gleaming white table, resplendent with flowers and cut glass.

About the bronze lamp—Lilly remembered it with its claws and slim lily design—hung a veil of violet orchids, which had surely cost an enormous sum.

He knew how to live, the old untidy rogue. One had to admit that.

Lilly saw her reflection in the mirror opposite her seat. It was reassuringly aristocratic.

She had chosen a pleated dress of black Liberty silk with a waist of Chantilly lace, which despite its costliness lay in simple lines of grace about her breast and arms.

Unsuspecting spirits might believe that a similar costume was to be had everywhere from San Francisco to St. Petersburg, from Cape Town to Christiania for two hundred marks.

She had wisely refrained from wearing any jewellery, except the thin gold chain which she was wont to wear next to her skin. It encircled her high collar in maidenly modesty.

She looked like a young noblewoman who has been held in strict seclusion, and who is taking her first look into the great world with shy, inquiring eyes.

His uncle had assigned the seat on her right side to Konrad, and kept the place nearest the door for himself.

The instant he took his seat at table he began to feel somewhat in his element.

He uttered hoarse ejaculations and gave orders and was dissatisfied with everything.

"See here, boy," he said to the waiter, who was placing the hors-d'oeuvres on the table, "do you call that the right kind of a carafe for port wine? Don't you know that if port wine doesn't sparkle in the carafe, it takes away your thirst?"

The waiter, intimidated by his snarling, wanted to go off in search of another carafe, but Mr. Rennschmidt declared he could not wait, he needed a "starter."

"I'm still a little constrained," he said apologetically. "I'm not accustomed to associating with such beautiful and ungracious ladies."

Lilly felt a prick at her heart.

She met a reproachful look from her lover, which seemed to say:

"You mustn't be so dumb. You must be agreeable to him."

In the same mute language Lilly humbly implored his forgiveness.

"I can't. You speak for me."

In his anxiety Konrad began to converse as if he had been paid for entertaining them. He described the collection of antiques in his uncle's castle on the Rhine, touched upon the competition of the Americans, and, passing on to the subject of art in Italy, discussed the harmful effects of the Lex Pacca, and goodness knows what else.

It was a highly illuminating little discourse, which his uncle seemed to follow with moderate interest, while squinting at Lilly and smacking his lips from time to time over a piece of canned tunny. Then Mr. Rennschmidt said:

"All very true and edifying, my son. But couldn't you also impart some valuable information as to the state of the whiskey in this place?"

Konrad jumped up to pull the bell rope, but his uncle restrained him.

"Stop—stop—stop. This is my affair.... Here's the port for you.... After all a beautiful woman is a beautiful woman, even if she belongs to others. Here's to you, beautiful woman."

That sounded like mockery. Did he wish to make sport of her before repulsing her?

"In fact," he continued, addressing Lilly, "permit me to congratulate you. You've already worked a perceptible change in him. I see he already dances beautifully to your tune, eh?"

Whether or no, she had to say something in reply.

"I don't play tunes, and he doesn't dance," she said, making a mighty effort to pull herself together. "We're not free enough for that."

"Aha, there's one straight from the shoulder for me," he laughed, but his laugh sounded resentful.

"Lilly didn't mean any harm," Konrad interjected, coming to her rescue. "And really, we are not having an easy time of it. If Lilly hadn't helped me every day with her sweet comprehension, I don't think my strength would have held out."

"All very well and good—or—or, or all very deplorable. But your old uncle hasn't gotten even a look from her—as advance payment on our future relationship."

"Oh, if that's all," thought Lilly.

And raising her glass to touch his, she tried to thank him for his having come around with a little coquettish shamefaced smile.

It filled him with evident satisfaction. He twisted his pointed beard and ogled her confidentially with his leering eyes as if to extract from her a sign of secret understanding.

"Thank goodness! Maybe he's not so dreadful after all," she thought. She drew a breath of relief as she felt the chains of her embarrassment loosening a bit.

When the waiter returned, a grave discussion arose between him and Mr. Rennschmidt as to the brands of whiskey the hotel had to offer. It was a long parley and debate, ending in a call for the hotel-keeper himself, who went down into the cellar to hunt up a bottle he thought he must have somewhere with the label of a certain famous house and the date of a certain famous year.

At length Mr. Rennschmidt was ready again to bestow his attention upon his beautiful niece to be.

"I'm a sort of barnswallow. I built my nest of mud and such stuff. I traded in guano, train-oil, Australian blennies, pitch, and other more or less unclean things. So you can't blame me for wishing to recuperate by devoting myself to appetizing objects, such as you, my ungracious lady. All I wish is a little attention in return."

"Oh dear," thought Lilly. "I'll be impertinent for once." So she said: "Mr. Rennschmidt, you know I'm sitting here like a poor, trembling student going up for the examinations. I beg of you"—she raised her clasped hands—"don't play with me like a cat with a mouse."

She had struck the right note.

"Is she opening her mouth at last?" he cried beaming. "And she has a wonderful little snout, Konrad, one of those mice snouts with long teeth, in which the upper lip says to the lower lip, 'If you don't come and kiss, I'll run away.' Isn't it so, Konrad, you stupid fellow, eh?"

Lilly had to laugh heartily, and the entente cordiale was finally concluded.

And for a moment Konrad's dear tired face brightened with a smile of reassurance which expanded her heart as with a heaven-sent reward. She loved him so dearly she could have thrown herself at his uncle's feet for his sake. With a rising sense of triumph she thought:

"Now he shall see how agreeable I can be to that old horror."

And indeed to make herself agreeable proved to be not so very excessive a task. When she looked at the old man with his round, crumpled roguish face, his darting, sly little grey eyes, and the fine, wavy, snow-white diplomat's wig—it actually was a wig, sharply defined on his forehead and brushed forward into locks over his ears—she felt more and more strongly that he was an old acquaintance with whom she had many a time played pranks and to whom the recollection of those pranks secretly bound her.

Yet, surely, she had never met him before.

Despite his proletarian exterior his assured manner breathed an air of gentlemanliness. And the way he constructed the menu was really wonderful. The sixty-eight-year-old Steinbergerkabinett, which looked like amber-coloured oil when he poured it into the Rhine wine glasses, suited the blue trout as perfectly as if it were its native element. And the next course, the sweetbread patties À la Montgelas, was worthy of what had gone before. Neither Richard nor any member of the crew was so skilled in the epicurean art as he.

If only he had not kept tossing off one glass of whiskey after the other.

"My brain has been dulled by long money-making, like a nail hammered on cast-iron," he said in self-justification. "I must whet it every now and then, or else it'll get as dull as the edge of a tombstone."

When the Roman punch was served, a brief but hot discussion arose as to the merits of certain American drinks from which Lilly, with her knowledge of the whole range of beverages, came out with flying colours. She even knew accurately the ingredients of Mr. Rennschmidt's favourite mixture, the "South Sea bowl," a fiery concoction of sherry, cognac, angostura bitters, the yolks of eggs, and ChÂteau d'Yquem—in case of emergency Moselle might be used. She ventured to ask, might she not prepare the rare mixture for him after dinner; she could do it so expertly that he would have to admit he had not drunk anything more delicious between Singapore and Melbourne.

Konrad, who had evidently never suspected her talents in this line, listened to her with an astonishment which filled her with pride.

She sent him one furtive look after another, which asked:

"Are you satisfied? Am I pleasant enough to him?"

But he failed somehow to respond. He remained silent and abstracted, and sometimes he seemed to be remote from the company.

"Dream on," she thought blissfully. "I will look out for our happiness."

The friendship between her and the old man waxed apace.

By the time the wild duck came and with it the glowing Burgundy, which slipped down their throats like caressing flames, she had already been calling him uncle.

And he for his part, repeatedly declared that he was "totally wrapped up in his dear, dear little Lilly."

So this was the test, the cruel test, from which she had thought there was no concealment, no escape, the test that would bare her, dissect her, and turn her soul inside out.

She could scarcely contain herself when she thought of it.

Yes, yes. There sat that awful danger, whose moneybags held victory or defeat—a little monster grown tame, who stroked her fingers with his horrid wrinkled hands, and fawned on her for a crumb of her favour.

He was really amusing, especially when he told jokes.

What a lot of gossip from the colonies!

She had not heard so many anecdotes in a whole year.

For example there was the story of the German governor, Mr. Von So and So—she had met him once at Uhl's. He went to his post with his suite, consisting of his secretary, his valet, and his cook. Six months afterwards the cook went to him and said: "Governor, it's so and so far." He gave her two thousand marks and said: "But be sure and hold your tongue." Then she went to the secretary and said: "Mr. MÜller, it's so and so far." He gave her three hundred marks and said: "But be sure and hold your tongue." Then she went to the valet and said: "John, it's so and so far. We can get married." Three months afterward the valet went to the governor and said: "Your Excellency, that woman did us all. The brat's a nigger."

And many another story he told of like nature.

She had to hold her sides with laughter.

"Laugh, Konrad, darling, laugh."

He smiled, but his eyes remained serious, and his forehead tense.

When the champagne was brought they drank "fellowship."

It was horrible to kiss those thick, greedy old lips, but their future happiness demanded it.

Konrad, too, was to get a kiss. But he refused it. Worse still, he wanted to prohibit her drinking.

"She isn't careful enough," he muttered. "Please, uncle, don't give her so much. We have never drunk so much."

But they both laughed at him.

"He's always been a country yokel," the old man teased, "and has never known what's good. It's too bad for you to throw yourself away on him, Lilly dear. You ought to take a man like me. Not a booby in corduroy. He's a regular funeral torch."

But on this subject Lilly brooked no teasing.

"You let my little Konni alone, you old fright. You'd better tell your old chestnuts. Come along! Forward, march!"

No, she would not permit a word against her sweet little Konni.

The uncle fell to telling his stories again.

Now they were anecdotes in pigeon-English, that lingo which the Chinese and other interesting personages in the Far East use as a means of communication with the white sahibs. "Tom and Paddy in the Tea House," "The Virtuous Miss Laura in Macao," "The Guide and the Bayadere," each received a good box on the ear.

"But Konni ought not to hear any more of this, uncle. I don't want my Konni to be spoiled for me."

So she put her left ear close to the old gentleman's lips, and made a "whispering cave" with him, as was the wont of members of the "crew" when they flirted too outrageously or misbehaved in other ways.

Anyone who had thought she was tongue-tied or unable to repay like with like would have been sadly mistaken. The general's club jokes suffered from no lack of juiciness, and what she had learned from the "crew" was certainly of no mean parentage.

It was worth while to exert an extra effort for so appreciative an audience as "uncle." But Konrad, the innocent, had to submit to having his ears stuffed with the cotton batting upon which the calville apples had been served.

After the coffee the old man demanded that Lilly make good her promise and prepare the South Sea bowl. He was sure her assertion had been a mere idle boast.

No need to taunt her a second time.

All sorts of bottles were called into requisition, besides the sherry and the angostura, an old sweet Yquem. It was really a pity to put it to such uses, so Mr. Rennschmidt suggested taking a glass or two on the side.

To be sure the eggs broke at the wrong place and spilled over her gown and the carpet. But that made no difference; it only added to the pleasure. At any rate, the dear old uncle was paying for everything.

To compensate, the flame of the alcohol lamp leapt in the air all the more wildly—up to the orchids—up to the sky—it would have delighted her to drink in the tongues of fire the way witches do.

"Your luck, Konni—our luck, Konni!"

"Don't drink," she heard his voice. It was harsher than usual, and strange in its severity.

"Country yokel," she laughed, thrusting out her tongue at him.

"Don't drink," the voice admonished a second time. "You are not used to drinking."

She not used to drinking? How dared he say such a thing? That was questioning her honour. Yes, it was questioning her honour.

"How do you know what I'm used to?... I'm used to quite different things. I've sat on this very seat I'm sitting in more than once—more than ten times—and have drunk much, much more."

"Dear heart, think of what you're saying. It isn't true."

His voice once more sounded soft and gentle, as if he were reproving a naughty child.

Such a shame. It was enough to make one cry.

"How can you say it is not true? Do you think I'm a liar? Do you think I'm not familiar with such fashionable places as this? Pshaw! Shall I prove it to you? Very well. I can. I believe you'll find my name on the base of this lamp—Lilly Czepanek—Lilly Czepanek. Just look for it, look for it!"

He started to his feet and fixed his eyes upon the mirror-like surface defaced by a jumble of characters scratched on it.

But he could not find the L. C. for which he was looking. She had to come to his assistance. Not here.—Not there. The letters swam before her eyes. She had to try to catch them like the gold fish in her aquarium.

Aha! There it was. There it was! L. v. M., with the coronet above. For at that time she had still dared to use the prohibited name for an occasional adornment.

"Now you see I was right, Konni. Now you will let me drink, won't you. Here's to you, you sweet little yokel."

He was so struck by this proof that he sank back in his chair and said not a word.

But the uncle and she continued to drink and laugh at him.

When she threw a look into the mirror, she saw as through a billowy haze a red swollen face with rumpled hair under a hat tilted back on the head and two deep flabby furrows running from her mouth to her chin.

This caused her some disquiet. But she had no time to heed her feeling because that unspeakable old uncle had a new joke on the carpet.

"Do you know, Lilly dear, the Chinese way of singing the Lorelei?"

Before she had even heard a syllable she burst out into a wild laugh.

He put one of his bowed legs over the other, pretending it was a Chinese banjo, and played a prelude on the sole of his foot: "Tink-a-tink-a-tink." Then he began in a nasal, croaking, gurgling voice, drawing out his l's endlessly:

When he came to the second verse,