Nachtigall looked straight before him with a gloomy and crafty air, and said: "They will be calling for me again in a minute."
"What, are you playing somewhere else tonight?"
"Yes, they only begin there at two."
"It must be an unusually smart place."
"Yes and no," said Nachtigall, laughing, but he became serious again at once.
"Yes and no?" queried Fridolin, curiously.
Nachtigall bent across the table.
"I'm playing tonight in a private house, but I don't know whose it is."
"Then you're playing there for the first time?" Fridolin asked with increasing interest.
"No, it's the third time, but it will probably be a different house again."
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I," said Nachtigall, laughing, "but you'd better not ask any more."
"Oh, I see," remarked Fridolin.
"No, you're wrong. It's not what you think. I've seen a great deal in my time. It's unbelievable what one sees in such small towns, especially in Roumania, but here . . ." He drew back the yellow curtain from the window, looked out on the street and said as if to himself: "Not here yet." Then he turned to Fridolin and explained: "I mean the carriage. There's always a carriage to call for me, a different one each time."
"You're making me very curious, Nachtigall," Fridolin assured him.
"Listen to me," said Nachtigall after a slight pause. "I'd like to be able to arrange it—'but how can I do it—" Suddenly he burst out: "Have you got plenty of nerve?"
"That's a strange question," said Fridolin in the tone of an offended fraternity student.
"I don't mean that."
"Well, what do you mean?—Why does one need so much courage for this affair? What can possibly happen?" He gave a short and contemptuous laugh.
"Nothing can happen to me. At best this would be the last time—but perhaps that may be the case anyhow." He stopped and looked out again through the crevice in the curtain.
"Well, then where's the difficulty?"
"What did you say?" asked Nachtigall, as if coming out of a dream.
"Tell me the rest of the story, now that you've started. A secret party? Closed affair? Nothing but invited guests?"
"I don't know. The last time there were thirty people, and the first time only sixteen."
"A ball?"
"Of course, a ball." He seemed to be sorry he had spoken of the matter at all.
"And you're furnishing the music for the occasion?"
"What do you mean—for the occasion? I don't know for what occasion. I simply play—with bandaged eyes."
"Nachtigall, what do you mean?"
Nachtigall sighed a little and continued: "Unfortunately my eyes are not completely bandaged, so that I can occasionally see something. I can see through the black silk handkerchief over my eyes in the mirror opposite..." And he stopped.
"In other words," said Fridolin impatiently and contemptuously, but feeling strangely excited, "naked females."
"Don't say females," replied Nachtigall in an offended tone, "you never saw such women."
Fridolin hemmed and hawed a little. "And what's the price of admission?" he asked casually.
"Do you mean tickets and such? There are none."
"Well, how does one gain admittance?" asked Fridolin with compressed lips and tapping on the table with his fingers.
"You have to know the password, and it's a new one each time."
"And what's the one for tonight?"
"I don't know yet. I'll only find out from the coachman."
"Take me along, Nachtigall."
"Impossible. It's too dangerous."
"But a minute ago you yourself spoke ... of being willing to ... I think you can manage all right."
Nachtigall looked at him critically and said: "It would be absolutely impossible in your street clothes, for everyone is masked, men and women. As you haven't a masquerade outfit with you, it's out of the question. Perhaps the next time. I'll try to figure out some way." He listened attentively, peered again through the opening in the curtain and said with a sigh of relief: "There's my carriage, good-bye."
Fridolin hung on to his arm and said: "You can't get away that way. You've got to take me along."
"But my dear man . . ."
"Leave it to me. I know that it's dangerous. Perhaps that's the very thing that tempts me."
"But I've already told you—without costume and mask———"
"There are places to rent costumes."
"At one o'clock in the morning?"
"Listen here, Nachtigall. There's just such a place at the corner of Wickenburg Strasse. I walk past it several times a day." And he added, with growing excitement:
"You stay here for another quarter of an hour, Nachtigall. In the meantime I'll see what luck I have. The proprietor of the costume shop probably lives in the same building. If he doesn't—well, then I'll simply give it up for tonight. Let fate decide the question. There's a cafe in the same building. I think it's called Cafe Vindobona. You tell the coachman that you've forgotten something in the cafe, walk in, and I'll be waiting near the door. Then you can give me the password and get back into your carriage. If I manage to get a costume I'll take a cab and immediately follow you. The rest will take care of itself. I give you my word of honor, Nachtigall, that if you run any risk, I'll assume complete responsibility."
Nachtigall had tried several times to interrupt Fridolin, but it was useless——
The former threw some money on the table to pay his bill, including a generous tip which seemed appropriate for the style of the night, and left. A closed carriage was standing outside. A coachman dressed entirely in black with a tall silk hat, sat on the box, motionless. It looks like a mourning-coach, Fridolin thought. He ran down the street and reached the corner-house he was looking for a few minutes later. He rang the bell, inquired from the care-taker whether the costumer Gibiser lived in the house, and hoped in the bottom of his heart that he would receive a negative answer. But Gibiser actually lived there, on the floor below that of the costume shop. The care-taker did not seem especially surprised at having such a late caller. Made affable by Fridolin's liberal tip, he stated that it was not unusual during the carnival for people to come at such a late hour to hire costumes. He lighted the way from below with a candle until Fridolin had rung the bell on the second floor. Herr Gibiser himself opened the door for him, as if he had been waiting there. He was a bald-headed, haggard man and wore an old-fashioned, flowered dressing-gown and a tasselled, Turkish cap which made him look like a foolish old man on the stage. Fridolin asked for a costume and said that the price did not matter, whereupon Herr Gibiser remarked, almost disdainfully: "I ask a fair price, no more."
He led the way up a winding staircase into the store. There was an odor of silk, velvet, perfume, dust and withered flowers, and a glitter of silver and red out of the indistinct darkness. A number of little electric bulbs suddenly shone between the open cabinets of a long, narrow passage, the end of which was enveloped in darkness. There were all kinds of costumes hanging to the right and to the left. On one side knights, squires, peasants, hunters, scholars, Orientals and clowns; on the other, ladies-at-court, baronesses, peasant women, lady's maids, queens of the night. The corresponding head-dresses were on a shelf above the costumes. Fridolin felt as though he were walking through a gallery of hanged people who were on the point of asking each other to dance. Herr Gibiser followed him. Finally he asked: "Is there anything special you want? Louis Quatorze, Directoire, or Old-German?"
"I need a dark cassock and a black mask, that's all."
At this moment the clink of glasses rang out from the end of the passage. Fridolin was startled and looked at the costumer, as though he felt an explanation were due. Gibiser, however, merely groped for a switch which was concealed somewhere. A blinding light was diffused over the entire passage down to the end where a little table, covered with plates, glasses and bottles, could be seen. Two men, dressed in the red robes of vehmic judges, sprang up from two chairs beside the table and a graceful little girl disappeared at the same moment. Gibiser rushed forward with long strides, reached across the table and grabbed a white wig in his hand. Simultaneously a young and charming girl, still almost a child, wearing a Pierrette costume, wriggled out from under the table and ran along the passage to Fridolin who caught her in his arms. Gibiser dropped the white wig and grabbed the two vehmic judges by their robes. At the same time he called out to Fridolin: "Hold on to that girl for me." The child pressed against Fridolin as though sure of protection. Her little oval face was covered with powder and several beauty spots, and a fragrance of roses and powder arose from her delicate breasts. There was a smile of impish desire in her eyes.
"Gentlemen," cried Gibiser, "you will stay here while I call the police."
"What's got into you?" they exclaimed, and continued as if with one voice: "We were invited by the young lady."
Gibiser released his hold and Fridolin heard him saying: "You will have to explain this. Couldn't you see that the girl was deranged? Then turning to Fridolin, he said: "Sorry to keep you waiting."
"Oh, it doesn't matter," said Fridolin.
He would have liked to stay, or, better still, to take the girl with him, no matter where —and whatever the consequences. She looked up at him with alluring and child-like eyes, as if spellbound. The men at the end of the passage were arguing excitedly. Gibiser turned to Fridolin and asked in a matter-of-fact way: "You wanted a cassock, a pilgrim's hat and a mask?"
"No," said Pierrette with gleaming eyes, "you must give this gentleman a cloak lined with ermine and a doublet of red silk."
"Don't you budge from my side," answered Gibiser. Then he pointed to a dark frock hanging between a medieval soldier and a Venetian Senator, and said: "That's about your size and here's the hat. Take it quick."
The two strange men protested again: "You'll have to let us out at once, Herr Chibisier." Fridolin noticed with surprise the French pronunciation of the name Gibiser.
"That's out of the question," replied the costumer scornfully. "You'll kindly wait here until I return."
Meanwhile Fridolin slipped into the cassock and tied the white cords. Gibiser, who was standing on a narrow ladder, handed him the black, broad-rimmed pilgrim's hat, and he put it on. But he did all this unwillingly, being more and more convinced that danger was threatening Pierrette and that it was his duty to remain and help her. The mask which Gibiser gave him and which he at once tried on, smelt strange and rather disagreeable.
"You walk down ahead of me," Gibiser commanded the girl, pointing to the stairs. Pierrette turned and waved a gay, yet wistful farewell. Fridolin's eyes followed the direction of her gaze. The two men were no longer in costume but wore evening clothes and white ties, though their faces were still covered by their red masks. Pierrette went down the winding staircase with a light step, Gibiser behind her and Fridolin following in the rear. In the anteroom below Gibiser opened a door leading to the inner rooms and said to Pierrette: "Go to bed at once, you depraved creature. I'll talk to you as soon as I've settled with those two upstairs."
She stood in the doorway, white and delicate, and with a glance at Fridolin, sadly shook her head. He noticed with surprise, in a large wall-mirror to the right, a haggard pilgrim who seemed to be himself. At the same time he knew very well that it could be no other.
The girl disappeared and the old costumer locked the door behind her. Then he opened the entrance door and hurried Fridolin out into the hallway.
"Well," said Fridolin, "how much do I owe you?"
"Never mind, sir, you can pay when you return the things. I'll trust you."
Fridolin, however, refused to move. "Swear that you won't hurt that poor child," he said.
"What business is it of yours?"
"I heard you, a minute ago, say that the girl was insane—and just now you called her a depraved creature. That sounds pretty contradictory."
"Well," replied Gibiser theatrically, "aren't insanity and depravity the same in the eyes of God?"
Fridolin shuddered with disgust.
"Whatever it is," he remarked, "there are ways and means of attending to it. I am a doctor. We'll have another talk about this tomorrow."
Gibiser laughed mockingly without uttering a sound. A light flared up in the hallway, and the door between them was closed and immediately bolted. Fridolin took off the hat, cassock and mask while going downstairs, carrying the bundle under his arm. The care-taker opened the outer door and Fridolin saw the mourning-coach standing opposite with the motionless driver on the box. Nachtigall was just on the point of leaving the cafe, and seemed somewhat taken aback at seeing Fridolin at hand so promptly.
"Then you did manage to get a costume?"
"You can see for yourself. What's the password?"
"You insist on knowing it?"
"Absolutely."
"Well then—it's Denmark."
"Are you mad, Nachtigall?"
"Why mad?"
"Oh, never mind—I was at the seashore in Denmark this summer. Get back into your carriage—but not too fast, so that I'll have time to take a cab over on the other side."
Nachtigall nodded and leisurely lighted a cigarette. Fridolin quickly crossed the street, hailed a cab in an offhand way, as though he were playing a joke, and told the driver to follow the mourning-coach which was just starting in front of them.
They crossed Alser Strasse, and drove on through dim, deserted side-streets under a railroad viaduct toward the suburbs.
Fridolin was afraid that the driver might lose sight of the carriage, but whenever he put his head out of the open window, into the abnormally warm air, he always saw it. It was a moderate distance ahead of them, and the coachman with his high, black silk hat sat motionless on the box. This business may end badly, thought Fridolin. At the same time he remembered the fragrance of roses and powder that had arisen from Pierrette's breasts. What strange story is behind all that? he wondered. I shouldn't have left—perhaps it was even a great mistake—I wonder where I am now.