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Page 94

A bad week for Harmony followed, a week of weary days and
restless nights when she slept only to dream of Peter--of his
hurt and incredulous eyes when he found she had gone; of
Jimmy--that he needed her, was worse, was dying. More than once
she heard him sobbing and wakened to the cooing of the pigeons on
the window-sill. She grew thin and sunken-eyed; took to dividing
her small hoard, half of it with her, half under the carpet, so
that in case of accident all would not be gone.

This, as it happened, was serious. One day, the sixth, she came
back wet to the skin from an all-day rain, to find that the
carpet bank had been looted. There was no clue. The stolid
Hungarian, startled out of her lethargy, protested innocence; the
little dressmaker, who seemed honest and friendly, wept in sheer
sympathy. The fact remained--half the small hoard was gone.

Two days more, a Sunday and a Monday. On Sunday Harmony played,
and Georgiev in the room below, translating into cipher a recent
conference between the Austrian Minister of War and the German
Ambassador, put aside his work and listened. She played, as once
before she had played when life seemed sad and tragic, the
"Humoresque." Georgiev, hands behind his head and eyes upturned,
was back in the Pension Schwarz that night months ago when
Harmony played the "Humoresque" and Peter stooped outside her
door. The little Bulgarian sighed and dreamed.

Harmony, a little sadder, a little more forlorn each day, pursued
her hopeless quest. She ventured into the heart of the Stadt and
paid a part of her remaining money to an employment bureau, to
teach English or violin, whichever offered, or even both. After
she had paid they told her it would be difficult, almost
impossible without references. She had another narrow escape as
she was leaving. She almost collided with Olga, the chambermaid,
who, having clashed for the last time with Katrina, was seeking
new employment. On another occasion she saw Marie in the crowd
and was obsessed with a longing to call to her, to ask for Peter,
for Jimmy. That meeting took the heart out of the girl. Marie was
white and weary--perhaps the boy was worse. Perhaps Peter--Her
heart contracted. But that was absurd, of course, Peter was
always well and strong.

Two things occurred that week, one unexpected, the other
inevitable. The unexpected occurrence was that Monia Reiff,
finding Harmony being pressed for work, offered the girl a
situation. The wage was small, but she could live on it.

The inevitable was that she met Georgiev on the stairs without
her veil.

It was the first day in the workroom. The apprentices were
carrying home boxes for a ball that night. Thread was needed, and
quickly. Harmony, who did odds and ends of sewing, was most
easily spared. She slipped on her jacket and hat and ran down to
the shop near by.

It was on the return that she met Georgiev coming down. The
afternoon was dark and the staircase unlighted. In the gloom one
face was as another. Georgiev, listening intently, hearing
footsteps, drew back into the embrasure of a window and waited.
His swarthy face was tense, expectant. As the steps drew near,
were light feminine instead of stealthy, the little spy relaxed
somewhat. But still he waited, crouched.

It was a second before he recognized Harmony, another instant
before he realized his good fortune. She had almost passed. He
put out an unsteady hand.

"Fraulein!"

"Herr Georgiev!"

The little Bulgarian was profoundly stirred. His fervid eyes
gleamed. He struggled against the barrier of language, broke out
in passionate Bulgar, switched to German punctuated with an
English word here and there. Made intelligible, it was that he
had found her at last. Harmony held her spools of thread and
waited for the storm of languages to subside. Then:--

"But you are not to say you have seen me, Herr Georgiev."

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Sat 27th Dec 2025, 18:06

The Street of Seven Stars by Mary Roberts Rinehart