The dark one passed her hands over her dress.
"We did that pretty well, what?"
"Yes," said I reluctantly.
"That will cost you a hundred marks for me."
"Ach, so?" said I.
"The stingy old buck," she whispered confidentially, coming nearer, "has money to burn.
But to get anything out of him!
Refuses even to make a will.
And afterwards of course everything will go to the children, and where will I be?
There's no fun either with him always rowing—"
She came still nearer and shook her breasts.
"Then I'll come over to-morrow sometime for the hundred marks?
When will you be there?
Or will you be passing this way?" She giggled. "To-morrow afternoon I'll be alone here."
"I'll send it over to you," said I.
She giggled again.
"Bring it yourself.
Or are you afraid?"
She took me for an innocent apparently, and meant to make quite clear to me how things stood.
"Not afraid," said I, "but I haven't time.
I have to go to see the doctor to-morrow.
An old syphilis—spoils life a bit."
She stepped back so quickly that she almost fell over a plush armchair. At that moment the baker came in again.
He looked at the dark one suspiciously.
Then he counted out the money in cash on the table.
He paid slowly and hesitantly.
His shadow swayed on the pink carpet of the room and counted with him.
As I wrote out the receipt it struck me that this had all happened once before to-day— only Ferdinand Grau had been in my place.
Though it had no significance, it seemed to me queer.
I was glad when I was outside again.
The air was soft and summery.
The Cadillac winked from the edge of the street.
"Well, thanks, old boy," said I, patting the radiator. "Come again soon."
Chapter XV
The morning was clear and sparkling over the meadows.
Pat and I were sitting on the edge of a clearing having breakfast.
I had taken two weeks' leave and was on the way with Pat.
We were making for the sea.
On the roadside stood a little, old Citroen.
We had taken it in part payment against the baker's Ford and Koster had lent it to me for my leave.
It looked like a patient pack-mule, so laden was it with trunks.
"Let's hope he doesn't collapse on the road," said I.
"He won't collapse," replied Pat.
"How do you know?"
"Self-evident.
Because it's our holiday, Robby."
"Maybe," said I. "But I know his back axle.
It looks pretty sad.
Especially with that load."
"He's one of Karl's brothers. He'll hold out."