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Page 84

"If I could only put it up to Harmony first!" he reflected. "But
she will understand when I tell her. She always understands."

Standing there on the little balcony, with tragedy the thickness
of a pine board beyond him, Peter experienced a bit of the glow
of the morning, as of one who stumbling along in a dark place
puts a hand on a friend.

He went into the room. Stewart was lying very still and breathing
easily. On her knees beside the bed knelt Marie. At Peter's step
she rose and faced him.

"I am leaving him, Peter, for always."

"Good!" said Peter heartily. "Better for you and better for him."

Marie drew a long breath. "The night train," she said listlessly,
"is an express. I had forgotten. It is double fare."

"What of that, little sister?" said Peter. "What is a double fare
when it means life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness? And
there will be happiness, little sister."

He put his hand in his pocket.

CHAPTER XX

The Portier was almost happy that morning. For one thing, he had
won honorable mention at the Schubert Society the night before;
for another, that night the Engel was to sing Mignon, and the
Portier had spent his Christmas tips for a ticket. All day long
he had been poring over the score.

"'Kennst du das Land wo die Citronen bluhen?'" he sang with
feeling while he polished the floors. He polished them with his
feet, wearing felt boots for the purpose, and executing in the
doing a sort of ungainly dance--a sprinkle of wax, right foot
forward and back, left foot forward and back, both feet forward
and back in a sort of double shuffle; more wax, more vigorous
polishing, more singing, with longer pauses for breath.
"'Knowest thou the land where the lemon trees bloom?'" he
bellowed--sprinkle of wax, right foot, left foot, any foot at
all. Now and then he took the score from his pocket and pored
over it, humming the air, raising his eyebrows over the high
notes, dropping his chin to the low ones. It was a wonderful
morning. Between greetings to neighbors he sang--a bit of talk, a
bit of song.

"'Kennst du das Land'--Good-morning, sir--the old Rax wears a
crown. It will snow soon. 'Kennst du das Land wo die
Citronen'--Ah, madam the milk Frau, and are the cows frozen up
to-day like the pump? No? Marvelous! Dost thou know that to-night
is Mignon at the Opera, and that the Engel sings? 'Kennst du das
Land'--"

At eleven came Rosa with her husband, the soldier from Salzburg
with one lung. He was having a holiday from his sentry duty at
the hospital, and the one lung seemed to be a libel, for while
the women had coffee together and a bit of mackerel he sang a
very fair bass to the Portier's tenor. Together they pored over
the score, and even on their way to the beer hall hummed together
such bits as they recalled.

On one point they differed. The score was old and soiled with
much thumbing. At one point, destroyed long since, the sentry
sang A sharp: the Portier insisted on A natural. They argued
together over three Steins of beer; the waiter, referred to,
decided for A flat. It was a serious matter to have one's teeth
set, as one may say, for a natural and then to be shocked with an
unexpected half-tone up or down! It destroyed the illusion; it
disappointed; it hurt.

The sentry stuck to the sharp--it was sung so at the Salzburg
opera. The Portier snapped his thumb at the Salzburg opera.
Things were looking serious; they walked back to the locale in
silence. The sentry coughed. Possibly there was something, after
all, in the one-lung rumor.

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Fri 26th Dec 2025, 19:52

The Street of Seven Stars by Mary Roberts Rinehart