She had not taken up her sewing again. She had crossed her stockingless legs and had pushed her skirt back a little from her knees. Her legs were rather sturdy, but long, and fine-ankled. On her right calf I saw a birthmark nearly the size of a farthing—it seemed beautiful to me. She held a cigarette in her hand; she blew the smoke in a broad stream through her nearly closed lips; she stared at me without blinking.

“Go on, pop,” she said, “you’re getting on fine, go on.…”

I tried to think. What had I been talking about just now? The impulse to touch her, to take her in my arms, became almost overwhelming. But I leaned back firmly in my wicker chair, I clung to its arms. Suddenly I heard myself speak again. I spoke quite slowly and very distinctly, and yet I was breathless with excitement. “I’m a wholesale merchant,” I said, “I had quite a good business, but now I’m faced with bankruptcy. They’ll all laugh at me, all of them, especially my wife.… I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and Magda will throw them all in my face. Magda’s my wife, you know.…”

She looked at me steadily, with that very white face of hers, that had about it something almost bloated. Above her nearly colourless eyes, stood her dark high-arching brows.

“But I can still draw money out of the business, a few thousand marks. I’d do it anyway, just to annoy Magda. Magda wants to save the business. Does she think she’s better than I am? I could sell the business. I know already to whom, it’s quite a new firm. He would give me ten, perhaps twelve thousand marks for it, we could go travelling.… Have you ever been to Paris?”

She looked at me. Neither affirmation nor dissent were to be read in her face. I went on talking, quicker, more breathlessly. “I’ve not been there either,” I continued, “but I’ve read about it. It’s a town of tree-lined boulevards, wide squares, leafy parks.… When I was a boy I learned a bit of French, but I left school too soon, my parents hadn’t enough money. Do you know what this means: Donnez-moi un baiser, mademoiselle?”

Not a sign from her, neither yes or no.

“It means, ‘give me a kiss, mademoiselle.’ But one would have to say to you, Donnez-moi un baiser, ma reine! Reine means queen. You’re the queen of my heart. You’re the queen of the poison they cork up in bottles. Give me your hand, Elsabe—I’m going to call you Elsabe, my queen—I mean to kiss your hand.…”

She filled my glass.

“There, drink this up, then you’re going home. It’s enough—you’ve had enough to drink, and I’ve had enough of you. You can take that bottle of brandy with you. You’ll have to pay for the whole bottle, saloon price. It’s no swindle.