Chapter 2 - The Baron.

"Who is he?" I said. "And why does he sit always alone, with his back to
us, too?"

"Ah!" whispered the Frau Oberregierungsrat, "he is a BARON."

She looked at me very solemnly, and yet with the slightest possible
contempt--a "fancy-not-recognising-that-at-the-first-glance" expression.

"But, poor soul, he cannot help it," I said. "Surely that unfortunate fact
ought not to debar him from the pleasures of intellectual intercourse."

If it had not been for her fork I think she would have crossed herself.

"Surely you cannot understand. He is one of the First Barons."

More than a little unnerved, she turned and spoke to the Frau Doktor on her
left.

"My omelette is empty--EMPTY," she protested, "and this is the third I have
tried!"

I looked at the First of the Barons. He was eating salad--taking a whole
lettuce leaf on his fork and absorbing it slowly, rabbit-wise--a
fascinating process to watch.

Small and slight, with scanty black hair and beard and yellow-toned
complexion, he invariably wore black serge clothes, a rough linen shirt,
black sandals, and the largest black-rimmed spectacles that I had ever
seen.

The Herr Oberlehrer, who sat opposite me, smiled benignantly.

"It must be very interesting for you, gnadige Frau, to be able to watch....
of course this is a VERY FINE HOUSE. There was a lady from the Spanish
Court here in the summer; she had a liver. We often spoke together."

I looked gratified and humble.

"Now, in England, in your 'boarding 'ouse', one does not find the First
Class, as in Germany."

"No, indeed," I replied, still hypnotised by the Baron, who looked like a
little yellow silkworm.

"The Baron comes every year," went on the Herr Oberlehrer, "for his nerves.
He has never spoken to any of the guests--YET! A smile crossed his face.
I seemed to see his visions of some splendid upheaval of that silence--a
dazzling exchange of courtesies in a dim future, a splendid sacrifice of a
newspaper to this Exalted One, a "danke schon" to be handed down to future
generations.

At that moment the postman, looking like a German army officer, came in
with the mail. He threw my letters into my milk pudding, and then turned
to a waitress and whispered. She retired hastily. The manager of the
pension came in with a little tray. A picture post card was deposited on
it, and reverently bowing his head, the manager of the pension carried it
to the Baron.

Myself, I felt disappointed that there was not a salute of twenty-five
guns.

At the end of the meal we were served with coffee. I noticed the Baron
took three lumps of sugar, putting two in his cup and wrapping up the third
in a corner of his pocket-handkerchief. He was always the first to enter
the dining-room and the last to leave; and in a vacant chair beside him he
placed a little black leather bag.

In the afternoon, leaning from my window, I saw him pass down the street,
walking tremulously and carrying the bag. Each time he passed a lamp-post
he shrank a little, as though expecting it to strike him, or maybe the
sense of plebeian contamination...

I wondered where he was going, and why he carried the bag. Never had I
seen him at the Casino or the Bath Establishment. He looked forlorn, his
feet slipped in his sandals. I found myself pitying the Baron.

That evening a party of us were gathered in the salon discussing the day's
"kur" with feverish animation. The Frau Oberregierungsrat sat by me
knitting a shawl for her youngest of nine daughters, who was in that very
interesting, frail condition..."But it is bound to be quite satisfactory,"
she said to me. "The dear married a banker--the desire of her life."

There must have been eight or ten of us gathered together, we who were
married exchanging confidences as to the underclothing and peculiar
characteristics of our husbands, the unmarried discussing the over-clothing
and peculiar fascinations of Possible Ones.

"I knit them myself," I heard the Frau Lehrer cry, "of thick grey wool. He
wears one a month, with two soft collars."

"And then," whispered Fraulein Lisa, "he said to me, 'Indeed you please me.
I shall, perhaps, write to your mother.'"

Small wonder that we were a little violently excited, a little
expostulatory.

Suddenly the door opened and admitted the Baron.

Followed a complete and deathlike silence.

He came in slowly, hesitated, took up a toothpick from a dish on the top of
the piano, and went out again.

When the door was closed we raised a triumphant cry! It was the first time
he had ever been known to enter the salon. Who could tell what the Future
held?

Days lengthened into weeks. Still we were together, and still the solitary
little figure, head bowed as though under the weight of the spectacles,
haunted me. He entered with the black bag, he retired with the black
bag--and that was all.

At last the manager of the pension told us the Baron was leaving the next
day.

"Oh," I thought, "surely he cannot drift into obscurity--be lost without
one word! Surely he will honour the Frau Oberregierungsrat of the Frau
Feldleutnantswitwe ONCE before he goes."

In the evening of that day it rained heavily. I went to the post office,
and as I stood on the steps, umbrellaless, hesitating before plunging into
the slushy road, a little, hesitating voice seemed to come from under my
elbow.

I looked down. It was the First of the Barons with the black bag and an
umbrella. Was I mad? Was I sane? He was asking me to share the latter.
But I was exceedingly nice, a trifle diffident, appropriately reverential.
Together we walked through the mud and slush.

Now, there is something peculiarly intimate in sharing an umbrella.

It is apt to put one on the same footing as brushing a man's coat for
him--a little daring, naive.

I longed to know why he sat alone, why he carried the bag, what he did all
day. But he himself volunteered some information.

"I fear," he said, "that my luggage will be damp. I invariably carry it
with me in this bag--one requires so little--for servants are
untrustworthy."

"A wise idea," I answered. And then: "Why have you denied us the
pleasure--"

"I sit alone that I may eat more," said the Baron, peering into the dusk;
"my stomach requires a great deal of food. I order double portions, and
eat them in peace."

Which sounded finely Baronial.

"And what do you do all day?"

"I imbibe nourishment in my room," he replied, in a voice that closed the
conversation and almost repented of the umbrella.

When we arrived at the pension there was very nearly an open riot.

I ran half way up the stairs, and thanked the Baron audibly from the
landing.

He distinctly replied: "Not at all!"

It was very friendly of the Herr Oberlehrer to have sent me a bouquet that
evening, and the Frau Oberregierungsrat asked me for my pattern of a baby's
bonnet!

...

Next day the Baron was gone.

Sic transit gloria German mundi.

Read next: Chapter 3 - The Sister of the Baroness

Read previous: Chapter 1 - Germans at Meat

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