CHAPTER VI
A very pale and dispirited Harmony it was who bathed her eyes in coldwater that evening and obeyed little Olga's "Bitte sum speisen." Thechairs round the dining-table were only half occupied--a free concerthad taken some, Sunday excursions others. The little Bulgarian, secretlyconsidered to be a political spy, was never about on this one evening ofthe week. Rumor had it that on these evenings, secreted in an attic roomfar off in the sixteenth district, he wrote and sent off reports of whathe had learned during the week--his gleanings from near-by tables incoffee-houses or from the indiscreet hours after midnight in the cafe,where the Austrian military was wont to gather and drink.
Into the empty chair beside Harmony Peter slid his long figure, and meta tremulous bow and silence. From the head of the table Frau Schwarz wastalking volubly--as if, by mere sound, to distract attention from thescantiness of the meal. Under cover of the Babel Peter spoke to thegirl. Having had his warning his tone was friendly, without a hint ofthe intimacy of the day before.
"Better?"
"Not entirely. Somewhat."
"I wish you had sent Olga to me for some tablets. No one needs to sufferfrom headache, when five grains or so of powder will help them."
"I am afraid of headache tablets."
"Not when your physician prescribes them, I hope!"
This was the right note. Harmony brightened a little. After all, whathad she to do with the man himself? He had constituted himself herphysician. That was all.
"The next time I shall send Olga."
"Good!" he responded heartily; and proceeded to make such a meal ashe might, talking little, and nursing, by a careful indifference, hernew-growing confidence.
It was when he had pushed his plate away and lighted acigarette--according to the custom of the pension, which accorded the"Nicht Rauchen" sign the same attention that it did to the portrait ofthe deceased Herr Schwarz--that he turned to her again.
"I am sorry you are not able to walk. It promises a nice night."
Peter was clever. Harmony, expecting an invitation to walk, had nervedherself to a cool refusal. This took her off guard.
"Then you do not prescribe air?"
"That's up to how you feel. If you care to go out and don't mind mygoing along as a sort of Old Dog Tray I haven't anything else to do."
Dr. Gates, eating stewed fruit across the table, gave Peter a swiftglance of admiration, which he caught and acknowledged. He was ratherexultant himself; certainly he had been adroit.
"I'd rather like a short walk. It will make me sleep," said Harmony,who had missed the by-play. "And Old Dog Tray would be a very nicecompanion, I'm sure."
It is doubtful, however, if Anna Gates would have applauded Peterhad she followed the two in their rambling walk that night. Directionmattering little and companionship everything, they wandered on, talkingof immaterial things--of the rough pavements, of the shop windows, ofthe gray medieval buildings. They came to a full stop in front of theVotivkirche, and discussed gravely the twin Gothic spires and theBenk sculptures on the facade. And there in the open square, castingdiplomacy to the winds, Peter Byrne turned to Harmony and blurted outwhat was in his heart.
"Look here," he said, "you don't care a rap about spires. I don'tbelieve you know anything about them. I don't. What did that idiot of awoman doctor say to you to-day?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"You do very well. And I'm going to set you right. She starts out withtwo premises: I'm a man, and you're young and attractive. Then she drawssome sort of fool deduction. You know what I mean?"
"I don't see why we need discuss it," said poor Harmony. "Or how youknow--"
"I know because she told me. She knew she had been a fool, and shecame to me. I don't know whether it makes any difference to you or not,but--we'd started out so well, and then to have it spoiled! My deargirl, you are beautiful and I know it. That's all the more reason why,if you'll stand for it, you need some one to look after you--I'll notsay like a brother, because all the ones I ever knew were darned poorbrothers to their sisters, but some one who will keep an eye on you andwho isn't going to fall in love with you."
"I didn't think you were falling in love with me; nor did I wish youto."
"Certainly not. Besides, I--" Here Peter Byrne had another inspiration,not so good as the first--"Besides, there is somebody at home, youunderstand? That makes it all right, doesn't it?"
"A girl at home?"
"A girl," said Peter, lying manfully.
"How very nice!" said Harmony, and put out her hand. Peter, feeling allsorts of a cheat, took it, and got his reward in a complete restoral oftheir former comradely relations. From abstractions of church towersand street paving they went, with the directness of the young, tothemselves. Thereafter, during that memorable walk, they talkedblissful personalities, Harmony's future, Peter's career, money--orits lack--their ambitions, their hopes, even--and here was intimacy,indeed!--their disappointments, their failures of courage, theiroccasional loss of faith in themselves.
The first real snow of the year was falling as they turned back towardthe Pension Schwarz, a damp snow that stuck fast and melted with achilly cold that had in it nothing but depression. The upper spires ofthe Votivkirche were hidden in a gray mist; the trees in the park tookon, against the gloom of the city hall, a snowy luminosity. Save foran occasional pedestrian, making his way home under an umbrella, thestreets were deserted. Byrne and Harmony had no umbrella, but the girlrejected his offer of a taxicab.
"We should be home too quickly," she observed naively. "And we haveso much to say about me. Now I thought that perhaps by giving Englishlessons in the afternoon and working all morning at my music--"
And so on and on, square after square, with Peter listening gravely,his head bent. And square after square it was borne in on him whata precarious future stretched before this girl beside him, how veryslender her resources, how more than dubious the outcome.
Poverty, which had only stimulated Peter Byrne in the past, ate deepinto his soul that night.
Epochmaking as the walk had been, seeing that it had reestablished afriendship and made a working basis for future comradely relations, theywere back at the corner of the Alserstrasse before ten. As they turnedin at the little street, a man, lurching somewhat, almost collidedwith Harmony. He was a short, heavy-set person with a carefully curledmustache, and he was singing, not loudly, but with all his maudlinheart in his voice, the barcarolle from the "Tales" of Hoffmann. He sawHarmony, and still singing planted himself in her path. When Byrne wouldhave pushed him aside Harmony caught his arm.
"It is only the Portier from the lodge," she said.
The Portier, having come to rest on a throaty and rather wavering note,stood before Harmony, bowing.
"The Fraulein has gone and I am very sad," he said thickly. "There is nomore music, and Rosa has run away with a soldier from Salzburg who hasonly one lung."
"But think!" Harmony said in German. "No more practicing in the earlydawn, no young ladies bringing mud into your newscrubbed hall! It isbetter, is it not? All day you may rest and smoke!"
Byrne led Harmony past the drunken Portier, who turned with caution andbowed after them.
"Gute Nacht," he called. "Kuss die Hand, Fraulein. Four rooms and thesalon and a bath of the finest."
As they went up the Hirschengasse they could hear him pursuing hisunsteady way down the street and singing lustily. At the door of thePension Schwarz Harmony paused.
"Do you mind if I ask one question?"
"You honor me, madam."
"Then--what is the name of the girl back home?"
Peter Byrne was suddenly conscious of a complete void as to femininenames. He offered, in a sort of panic, the first one he recalled:--
"Emma."
"Emma! What a nice, old-fashioned name!" But there was a touch ofdisappointment in her voice.
Harmony had a lesson the next day. She was a favorite pupil with themaster. Out of so much musical chaff he winnowed o
nly now and then agrain of real ability. And Harmony had that. Scatchy and the Big Sopranohad been right--she had the real thing.
The short half-hour lesson had a way with Harmony of lengthening itselfto an hour or more, much to the disgust of the lady secretary in theanteroom. On that Monday Harmony had pleased the old man to one of hisrare enthusiasms.
"Six months," he said, "and you will go back to your America and showthem how over here we teach violin. I will a letter--letters--give you,and you shall put on the programme, of your concerts that you are mypupil, is it not so?"
Harmony was drawing on her worn gloves; her hands trembled a little withthe praise and excitement.
"If I can stay so long," she answered unsteadily.
"You must stay. Have I so long labored, and now before it is finishedyou talk of going! Gott im Himmel!"
"It is a matter of money. My father is dead. And unless I find somethingto do I shall have to go back."
The master had heard many such statements. They never ceased to rousehis ire against a world that had money for everything but music. Hespent five minutes in indignant protest, then:--
"But you are clever and young, child. You will find a way to stay.Perhaps I can now and then find a concert for you." It was a lure hehad thrown out before, a hook without a bait. It needed no bait, beingalways eagerly swallowed. "And no more talk of going away. I refuse toallow. You shall not go."
Harmony paid the lady secretary on her way out. The master wasinterested. He liked Harmony and he believed in her. But fifty Kronenis fifty Kronen, and South American beef is high of price. He followedHarmony into the outer room and bowed her out of his studio.
"The Fraulein has paid?" he demanded, turning sharply to the ladysecretary.
"Always."
"After the lesson?"
"Ja, Herr Professor."
"It is better," said the master, "that she pay hereafter before thelesson."
"Ja, Herr Professor."
Whereupon the lady secretary put a red-ink cross before Harmony's name.There were many such crosses on the ledger.
The Street of Seven Stars Page 6
