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"My dear young lady," he explained gravely, picking up the cheese
and the tinned fish, "it makes a difference in me that I wish you
to realize before you see me in a strong light."

He rapped at the Portier's door, with the intention of leaving
his parcels there, but receiving no reply tucked them under his
arm. A moment later Harmony was in the open air, rather dazed, a
bit excited, and lovely with the color the adventure brought into
her face. Her companion walked beside her, tall, slightly
stooped. She essayed a fugitive little sideglance up at him, and
meeting his eyes hastily averted hers.

They passed a policeman, and suddenly there flashed into the
girl's mind little Scatchett's letter.

"Do be careful, Harry. If any one you do not know speaks to you,
call a policeman."

CHAPTER III

The coffee-house was warm and bright. Round its small tables were
gathered miscellaneous groups, here and there a woman, but mostly
men--uniformed officers, who made of the neighborhood
coffee-house a sort of club, where under their breath they
criticized the Government and retailed small regimental gossip;
professors from the university, still wearing under the beards of
middle life the fine horizontal scars of student days; elderly
doctors from the general hospital across the street; even a
Hofrath or two, drinking beer and reading the "Fliegende
Blaetter" and "Simplicissimus"; and in an alcove round a billiard
table a group of noisy Korps students. Over all a permeating odor
of coffee, strong black coffee, made with a fig or two to give it
color. It rose even above the blue tobacco haze and dominated the
atmosphere with its spicy and stimulating richness. A bustle of
waiters, a hum of conversation, the rattle of newspapers and the
click of billiard balls--this was the coffee-house.

Harmony had never been inside one before. The little music colony
had been a tight-closed corporation, retaining its American
integrity, in spite of the salon of Maria Theresa and three
expensive lessons a week in German. Harmony knew the art
galleries and the churches, which were free, and the opera,
thanks to no butter at supper. But of that backbone of Austrian
life, the coffee-house, she was profoundly ignorant.

Her companion found her a seat in a corner near a heater and
disappeared for an instant on the search for the Paris edition of
the "Herald." The girl followed him with her eyes. Seen under the
bright electric lights, he was not handsome, hardly good-looking.
His mouth was wide, his nose irregular, his hair a nondescript
brown,--but the mouth had humor, the nose character, and, thank
Heaven, there was plenty of hair. Not that Harmony saw all this
at once. As he tacked to and fro round the tables, with a nod
here and a word there, she got a sort of ensemble effect--a tall
man, possibly thirty, broadshouldered, somewhat stooped, as tall
men are apt to be. And shabby, undeniably shabby!

The shabbiness was a shock. A much-braided officer, trim from the
points of his mustache to the points of his shoes, rose to speak
to him. The shabbiness was accentuated by the contrast. Possibly
the revelation was an easement to the girl's nervousness. This
smiling and unpressed individual, blithely waving aloft the Paris
edition of the "Herald" and equally blithely ignoring the
maledictions of the student from whom he had taken it--even
Scatchy could not have called him a vulture or threatened him
with the police.

He placed the paper before her and sat down at her side, not to
interfere with her outlook over the room.

"Warmer?" he asked.

"Very much."

"Coffee is coming. And cinnamon cakes with plenty of sugar. They
know me here and they know where I live. They save the sugariest
cakes for me. Don't let me bother you; go on and read. See which
of the smart set is getting a divorce--or is it always the same
one? And who's President back home."

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Tue 16th Dec 2025, 6:04

The Street of Seven Stars by Mary Roberts Rinehart