‘I don’t want any one,’ she declared;
’I shall go to sleep. I would send Pantaleone
with you too, only there would be no one to mind the
shop.’
‘May we take Tartaglia?’ asked Emil.
‘Of course you may.’
Tartaglia immediately scrambled, with delighted struggles,
on to the box and sat there, licking himself; it was
obviously a thing he was accustomed to. Gemma
put on a large straw hat with brown ribbons; the hat
was bent down in front, so as to shade almost the whole
of her face from the sun. The line of shadow
stopped just at her lips; they wore a tender maiden
flush, like the petals of a centifoil rose, and her
teeth gleamed stealthily—innocently too,
as when children smile. Gemma sat facing the
horses, with Sanin; Klueber and Emil sat opposite.
The pale face of Frau Lenore appeared at the window;
Gemma waved her handkerchief to her, and the horses
started.
Soden is a little town half an hour’s distance
from Frankfort. It lies in a beautiful country
among the spurs of the Taunus Mountains, and is known
among us in Russia for its waters, which are supposed
to be beneficial to people with weak lungs. The
Frankforters visit it more for purposes of recreation,
as Soden possesses a fine park and various ‘wirthschaften,’
where one may drink beer and coffee in the shade of
the tall limes and maples. The road from Frankfort
to Soden runs along the right bank of the Maine, and
is planted all along with fruit trees. While
the carriage was rolling slowly along an excellent
road, Sanin stealthily watched how Gemma behaved to
her betrothed; it was the first time he had seen them
together. She was quiet and simple in her manner,
but rather more reserved and serious than usual; he
had the air of a condescending schoolmaster, permitting
himself and those under his authority a discreet and
decorous pleasure. Sanin saw no signs in him
of any marked attentiveness, of what the French call
‘empressement,’ in his demeanour
to Gemma. It was clear that Herr Klueber considered
that it was a matter settled once for all, and that
therefore he saw no reason to trouble or excite himself.
But his condescension never left him for an instant!
Even during a long ramble before dinner about the
wooded hills and valleys behind Soden, even when enjoying
the beauties of nature, he treated nature itself with
the same condescension, through which his habitual
magisterial severity peeped out from time to time.
So, for example, he observed in regard to one stream
that it ran too straight through the glade, instead
of making a few picturesque curves; he disapproved,
too, of the conduct of a bird—a chaffinch—for
singing so monotonously. Gemma was not bored,
and even, apparently, was enjoying herself; but Sanin
did not recognise her as the Gemma of the preceding
days; it was not that she seemed under a cloud—her
beauty had never been more dazzling—but
