"Just look, Lena. We must take breakfast here often. What do you think?

It is heavenly. And look over towards the dockyard; they are already at work caulking the boats and the work follows a regular rhythm. Really, the rhythm of any such work is the best kind of music."

Lena nodded, but she was only half listening, for again to-day her attention was attracted toward the pier. It was not, indeed, the boats that were moored there, and which had so aroused her interest yesterday, but a pretty maid, who was kneeling half way down the pier amongst her kettles and copperware. With a hearty pleasure in her work, which was expressed in every motion of her arms, she polished the cans, kettles, and saucepans, and whenever she had finished one, she let the water run over the highly polished vessel. Then she would hold it up, let it glisten a moment in the sun and then put it in a basket.

Lena was quite carried away by the picture, and pointed to the pretty girl, who seemed to love her work as if she could never do enough.

"Do you know, Botho, it is no mere chance that she is kneeling there.

She is kneeling there for me and I feel plainly, that it is a sign and a token."

"But what is the matter with you, Lena? You look so different, you have grown quite pale all of a sudden."

"Oh nothing."

"Nothing? And yet your eyes are glistening as if you were nearer to tears than to laughter. You certainly must have seen copper kettles before and a cook polishing them. It seems almost as if you envied the girl kneeling there and working hard enough for three women."

The appearance of the host interrupted the conversation at this point and Lena recovered her quiet bearing and soon her cheerfulness also.

Then she went upstairs to change her dress.

When she returned she found that a programme proposed by the host had been unconditionally accepted by Botho: the young people were to take a sailboat as far as the next village, Nieder Lohme, which was charmingly situated on the Wendisch Spree. From this village they were to walk as far as Konigs-Wusterhausen, visit the park and the castle, and then return in the same way. This excursion would take half a day. The manner of pa.s.sing the afternoon could be arranged later.

Lena was pleased with the plan and a couple of wraps were just being put in the boat, which had been hastily gotten ready, when voices and hearty laughter were heard from the garden--a sound which seemed to indicate visitors and the probability that their solitude would be disturbed.

"Ah, members of the yacht and rowing club," said Botho. "The Lord be praised, we shall escape them, Lena. Let us hurry."

And they both started off to reach the boat as quickly as possible. But before they could reach the pier they saw that they were already surrounded and caught. The guests' were not only Botho's comrades, but his most intimate friends, Pitt, Serge, and Balafre. All three had ladies with them.

"_Ah, les beaux esprits se rencontrent_," said Balafre in a rather wild mood, which quickly changed to a more conventional manner, as he observed that he was being watched by the host and hostess from the threshold. "How fortunate we are to meet here. Allow me, Gaston, to present our ladies to you: Queen Isabeau, Fraulein Johanna, Fraulein Margot."

Botho saw what sort of names were the order of the day, and adapting himself quickly, he replied, indicating Lena with a little gesture and introducing her: "Mademoiselle Agnes Sorel."

All the three men bowed civilly, even to all appearances respectfully, while the two daughters of Thibaut d'Arc made a very slight curtsey, and Queen Isabeau, who was at least fifteen years older, offered a more friendly greeting to Agnes Sorel, who was not only a stranger to her, but apparently embarra.s.sed.

The whole affair was a disturbance, perhaps even an intentional disturbance, but the more successfully the plan worked out, the more needful did it seem to keep a bold front at a losing game. And in this Botho was entirely successful. He asked one question after another, and thus found out that the little group had taken one of the small steamers very early and had left the boat at Schmockwitz, and from there had come to Zeuthen on a sailboat. From Zeuthen they had walked, since it took scarcely twenty minutes; it had been charming: old trees, green fields and red roofs.

While the entire group of new-comers, but especially Queen Isabeau, who was almost more distinguished for her talkativeness than for her stout figure, were narrating these things, they had by chance strolled up to the veranda, where they sat down at one of the long tables.

"Charming," said Serge. "Large, free and open and yet so secluded. And the meadow over there seems just made for a moonlight promenade."

"Yes," added Balafre, "a moonlight promenade. That is all very fine.

But it is now barely ten o'clock, and before we can have a moonlight promenade we have about twelve hours to dispose of. I propose a boating trip."

"No," said Isabeau, "a boating trip will not do; we have already had more than enough of that to-day. First the steamer and then the sailboat and now another boat, would be too much. I am against it.

Besides I never can see the good of all this paddling: we might just as well fish or catch some little creatures with our hands and amuse ourselves with the poor little beasts. No, there will be no more paddling to-day. I must earnestly beg you."

The men, to whom these words were addressed, were evidently amused at the desires of the Queen Mother, and immediately made other proposals, which, however, met with the same fate. Isabeau rejected everything; and at last, when the others, half in jest and half in earnest, began to disapprove of her conduct, she merely begged to be left in peace.

"Gentlemen," said she, "Patience. I beg you to give me a chance to speak for at least a moment." This request was followed by ironical applause, for she had done all the talking thus far. But she went on quite unconcernedly: "Gentlemen, I beg you, teach me to understand men.

What is an excursion into the country? It is taking breakfast and playing cards. Isn't that so?"

"Isabeau is always right," laughed Balafre giving her a slap on the shoulder. "We will play cards. This is a capital place for it; I almost think that everyone must win here. And the ladies can go to walk in the meantime or perhaps take a forenoon nap. That will do them the most good, and an hour and a half will be time enough. And at twelve o'clock we will meet again. And the menu shall be according to the judgment of our Queen. Yes, Queen, life is still sweet. To be sure that is from 'Don Carlos.' But must everything be quoted from the 'Maid of Orleans'?"

That shot struck home and the two younger girls giggled, although they had scarcely understood the innuendo. But Isabeau who had grown up amongst conversations that were always interspersed with such slightly hinted sarcasms, remained perfectly calm and said, turning to the three other women: "Ladies, if I may beg you, we are now abandoned and have two hours to ourselves. For that matter, things might be worse."

Thereupon they rose and went into the house, where the Queen went to the kitchen, and after greeting those present in a friendly but superior manner, she asked for the host. The latter was not in the house, so the young woman offered to go and call him in from the garden, but Isabeau would not hear of it. She would go herself, and she actually went, still followed by her cortege of three (Balafre called them the hen and chickens). She went into the garden, where she found the host arranging the new asparagus beds. Close by there was an old-fashioned greenhouse, very low in front, with big, sloping windows, and a somewhat broken-down wall on which Lena and the daughters of Thibaut d'Arc sat, while Isabeau was arranging her business.

"We have come," said she, "to speak with you about the luncheon. What can we have?"

"Everything you are pleased to order."

"Everything? That is a great deal, almost too much. Now I should like eels. Only not like this, but like this." And as she spoke she pointed first to a ring on her finger and then to her broad thick bracelet.

"I am very sorry, ladies," answered the host. "We have no eels. Nor any kind of fish; I cannot serve you with fish, it is an exception.

Yesterday we had tench and dill, but it came from Berlin. If I want a fish, I have to go to the Cologne fish market for it."

"What a pity! We could have brought one with us. But what have you then?"

"A saddle of venison."

"H'm, that sounds rather well. And before that some vegetables for a salad. It is too late or almost too late for asparagus. But I see you still have some young beans there. And here in the hot bed there is surely something to be found, a couple of small cuc.u.mbers or some lettuce. And then a sweet dish. Something with whipped cream. I do not care so much for it myself, but men, who always behave as if they did not like such things, are always wanting sweets. This will make three or four courses, I think. And then bread and b.u.t.ter and cheese."

"And at what time do you wish the luncheon?"

"Well, I think quite soon, or at least as soon as possible. Is that right? We are hungry and half an hour is long enough to roast the saddle of venison. So let us say at about twelve. And if I may ask, we will have punch, a bottle of Rhine wine, three of Moselle and three of Champagne. But good brands. You must not think that it will be wasted.

I am familiar with wines, and can tell by the taste whether it is Moet or Mumm. But you will come out all right; you inspire me with confidence. By the way, can we not go from your garden directly into the wood? I hate every unnecessary step. And perhaps we may find some mushrooms. That would be heavenly. They would go well with the saddle of venison; mushrooms never spoil anything." The host not only answered the question in the affirmative, but escorted the ladies as far as the garden gate, from which it was only a couple of steps to the edge of the wood. Only a public road ran between. As soon as one had crossed the road, one was in the shady woods, and Isabeau, who suffered greatly from the increasing heat, thought herself fortunate in having avoided the rather long detour over a strip of treeless gra.s.s land. She played the fine lady, but her parasol, which she hung to her girdle, was decorated with a big grease spot. She took Lena's arm, while the two ladies followed. Isabeau appeared to be in the best humor and said, glancing back, to Margot and Johanna: "We must have a goal. It is quite dreadful to see only woods and then more woods. What do you think, Johanna?"

Johanna was the taller of the two d'Arcs, and was very pretty, but somewhat pale and dressed with studied simplicity. Serge liked that.

Her gloves fitted wonderfully, and one might have taken her for a lady if she had not used her teeth to b.u.t.ton one of her glove b.u.t.tons which had sprung out.

"What do you think, Johanna?" the Queen repeated her question.

"Well, then, I propose that we should go back to the village from which we came. It was called Zeuthen, and looked so romantic and so melancholy, and the road between there and here was so beautiful. And it must be just as beautiful or more so going back in the other direction. And on the right hand, that is to say, on the left going from here, was a churchyard with crosses. And there was a very large marble one."

"Yes, dear Johanna, that is all very well, but what good would it do us? We have seen the whole road. Or do you want to see the churchyard...."

"Of course I do. I have my own feelings, especially on a day like this.

And it is always good to be reminded that one must die. And when the elder bushes are in bloom ..."

"But, Johanna, the elders are no longer in bloom; the acacia is about all, and that already has pods. My goodness, if you are so wild about churchyards, you can see the one in the Oranienstra.s.se every day.

Zeuthen and the churchyard, what nonsense! We had rather stay right here and see nothing at all. Come, little one, give me your arm again."

The little one, who by the way was not little, was Lena. She obeyed.

But as they walked on again, the Queen continued in a confidential tone: "Oh that Johanna, one really cannot go about with her; she has not a good reputation, and she is a goose. Ah, child, you would not believe what kind of folks there are going about now; Oh well, she has a fine figure and is particular about her gloves. But she might better be particular about some other things. And if you will notice, it is always such as she who talk continually about the churchyard and dying.

And now you ought to see her by and by. So long as things are all right, they are all right. But when the punch bowl comes and is emptied and comes in again, then she screeches and screams. No idea of propriety. But where should it come from? She was always amongst the commonest people, out on the Chaussee towards Tegel, where no one ever goes and only the artillery pa.s.ses by. And artillery ... Oh well....

You would hardly believe how different all that is. And now Serge has taken her up and is trying to make something out of her. My goodness, it can't be done, or at least not all of a sudden; good work takes time. But here are some strawberries still. How nice! Come, little one, let us pick some (if it were not for this accursed stooping), and if we find a real big one we will take it back with us. I will put it in his mouth and he will be pleased. For I want to tell you that he is just like a child and he is just the very best man."

Lena, who saw that Balafre was referred to, asked a question or two, and also asked once more why the men had those peculiar names? She had already asked about it, but had never learned anything worth speaking of.

"Good Lord," said the Queen, "there would have to be something like that and no one should take any notice; and any way it is all put on.