A dignified waiter, who in
appearance and manner looked more like an ambassador, received the
guests, and took them into a private room on the left side of the
large room above the ground floor. This little room was all lined
with red like a jewel case, thick red portieres were over the doors,
and the amount of gas with which it was lighted made it rather
warmer than was comfortable. A large table with divans on three
sides of it nearly filled the room; it was beautifully decorated and
covered with flowers. Numerous wineglasses were placed before each
guest, and champagne was cooling in an ice-bucket near the door.
Dorfling was there, and received his guests as the waiter lifted the
heavy portiere. He was in evening dress, and his slightly flushed
face beamed with pleasure. His friends regretted keenly that they
had come in ordinary morning clothes, and expressed their apologies.
He interrupted them, saying they must overlook one of his little
whims and not say anything more about it.
Then they sat down to table, impressed by his charming manner.
Dorfling put Schrotter on his right hand, and Wilhelm and Paul on
his left; near Schrotter was Barinskoi and a friend of Dorfling's,
named Mayboorn. This man was, like Dorfling, a Rhinelander, he
combined a successful career as a writer of comic verses with a
confirmed pessimism.
Pages:
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261