"Go and kiss him," whispered the brother.
But the girls felt shy. They were almost afraid of him and his
melancholy music.
The boldest of them, however, went up to the piano.
"You are playing from the Freischutz, aren't you?" she asked.
"No," said Theodore, politely, "I'm playing Gounod's _Faust_."
"Your brother looks frightfully respectable," said the little dark
one, whose name was Rieke; "he's different to you, you old villain."
"Oh! well, he's going into the Church," whispered the lieutenant.
These words made a great impression on the girls, and henceforth they
only kissed the lieutenant when Theodore's back was turned, and looked
at Theodore shyly and apprehensively, like fowls at a chained mastiff.
Supper appeared, a great number of courses. There were eighteen dishes,
not counting the hot ones.
Gustav poured out the liqueurs.
"Your health, you old hypocrite!" he laughed.
Theodore swallowed the liqueur. A delicious warmth ran through his
limbs, a thin, warm veil fell over his eyes, he felt ravenous like a
starving beast. What a banquet it was! The fresh salmon with its
peculiar flavour, and the dill with its narcotic aroma; the radishes
which seem to scrape the throat and call for beer; the small
beef-steaks and sweet Portuguese onions, which made him think of
dancing girls; the fried lobster which smelt of the sea; the chicken
stuffed with parsley which reminded him of the gardener, and the first
gerkins with their poisonous flavour of verdigris which made such a
jolly, crackling sound between his crunching teeth.
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