I looked up.
A chap with a burgundy red face and white, waxed moustaches was staring at me indignantly.
Not a policeman and not a park keeper.
A high military gent on the retired list, one saw it immediately.
"That's not very difficult to see," I replied politely. "I'm breaking off lilac sprays."
The chap lost the faculty of speech for a moment.
"Don't you know this is a city park?" he then growled excitedly.
I smiled at him amiably.
"You don't say! I thought it was the Canary Islands. Where the pretty, yellow long-birds come from, you know."
The chap turned purple.
I was afraid he might have a stroke.
"Out of there at once, fellow!" he cried in first-rate barracks-square tone. "You are stealing public property.
I'll put you under arrest."
I had in the meantime enough lilac.
"You catch me, grandfather," I invited the old chap, and then jumped over the railing on the opposite side and disappeared.
Outside Pat's place I looked over my clothes once more.
Then, slowly, I mounted the stairs.
The house was new and modern—a decided contrast to my jaded and pompous barracks.
The staircase had a red carpet—none of that at Mother Zalewski's. Much less a lift.
Pat lived on the second floor.
On the door was a self-important tin plate: Egbert von hake, lt. col.
Involuntarily I adjusted my tie before ringing the bell.
A girl in white cap and little apron opened—not to be mentioned in the same breath with our cockeyed slut, Frida.
I began to feel rather awkward.
"Herr Lohkamp?" she asked.
I nodded.
Without more ado she led me across a little landing and opened a door.
I should not have been surprised if Lieutenant Colonel Egbert von Hake had been standing there in full uniform and had subjected me to preliminary cross-examination, so solemn was the effect of the array of portraits of generals, who, covered with decorations, looked down grimly upon me, mere civilian, from the walls of the antechamber.
But there was Pat already coming toward me with her lovely, long stride, and the room was suddenly an island of warmth and gaiety.
I shut the door and first of all took her cautiously in my arms.
Then I handed to her the stolen lilac.
"Here," said I, "with the compliments of the town council."
She put the sprays in a large, bright earthenware pot that stood on the floor by the window.
As she did so I glanced in surprise around the room.
Pleasant, subdued colours; little old, lovely furniture; a soft blue carpet, pastel-tinted curtains, cosy little armchairs upholstered in faded satin . . .
"My God, how did you find such a room, Pat?" said I.
"People usually put only their broken furniture and useless birthday presents in rooms they have to let."
She pushed the vase with the flowers carefully back against the wall.
I saw her slender, arched neck, the straight shoulders and the arms, a shade too thin.
As she knelt she looked like a child, a child one must take care of.
But her movements were those of a graceful animal, and then when she stood up and leaned against me, she was no longer a child, her eyes and her lips again had the inquiring expectancy and mystery that so intoxicated me and of which I had believed there was none left in this muddy world.
I put my arm about her shoulders.
It was lovely to feel her like this.
"They are my own things, Robby," said she.
"The house used to belong to my mother.
When she died I let it and kept just two rooms for myself." "Then it belongs to you, does it? And Lieutenant Colonel Egbert von Hake is a tenant?"
She shook her head.
"Not now.
I couldn't keep it.
I had to sell the rest of the furniture and give up the house.