The young lady stopped chewing, her gloved hands lowered the utensils to her plate.
She eyed the goateed man with the same mixture of contempt and disgust with which she had watched her mother on the train when the old lady slumped over and fell to snoring, but now I couldn't help noticing that this look of contempt and disgust had a certain flirtatious element, seeming a challenge rather than a snub, and when I glanced curiously at my neighbor I noticed that his mouth had stopped moving, too, and only his pointed beard was still quivering slightly with the effort to control himself, for the haughtiness of the young woman's gaze was forcing his own deep-set eyes to calm down, stop darting; they were not only most deeply engrossed in each other but also playing a game.
At the same time, the dignified old lady leaned toward me and apologized for having been forced to talk to the councillor about so weighty a matter, a wholly inappropriate topic at the breakfast table, she realized, and if she still preferred not to go into detail — the others at the table knew well, unfortunately, what she was referring to — it was only out of consideration for me, I must believe her, she did not want to disturb my surely cheerful mood with her troubles, she wanted to spare me! her words to the councillor were meant only as a reminder, she hoped that I would understand.
It was as if she and her fussing had stolen from me those few moments during which I had to assure her that I did understand fully and then had to thank her, producing one of my most obliging smiles, after which I found it hard to look back at the two, who in the meantime of course had gone on playing with each other — even more openly, I could just feel it, since they no longer had to worry about my inquisitive glance; I could see from the corner of my eye, even while listening politely to the mother, that her daughter had resumed chewing, having mesmerized the aging, vain man with the flirtatious disgust radiating from her rosy cheeks, but now she chewed with an amazing display of mimicry, copying his movements, chewing wildly, eagerly, imitating his insatiable appetite, making her chin quiver as if it were a beard, and this was only the beginning of their game, because the man, as if he'd just discovered how beautiful her face was, had no intention of being offended, the eagerness of his chewing simply shifting into his eyes, producing the leer of a shameless lecher, offering gratification — his deep-set, slightly squinting eyes seemed perfectly suited for this purpose — which, in turn, appeared to have a hypnotic effect on the girl; with their jaws locked for a moment, they looked at each other over the devastated table, and then the man started chewing again, carefully, demurely, almost girlishly, inviting her to chew along with him for a few ravenous beats; unbelievable as it may sound, they kept chewing and swallowing together, although there was nothing more in their mouths to chew or swallow.
But I had to stop watching them, because other startling events began to take place in the dining room, one after another at a frantic pace: in the glass-paneled door appeared a young man whose clothes alone were enough to raise eyebrows, and I had just raised my teacup to my lips when the councillor, on my right, still affecting a sleepy calm, made such a sudden, uncontrolled move with his elbow that I almost spilled my tea on the elderly lady, who was leaning forward to tell me something.
The young man flipped off his soft light-colored hat and handed it to a waiter standing nearby; a golden crown of hair, a mass of long blond curls, nearly exploded from under the hat; instead of a jacket, the young man wore a bulky white sweater and a matching scarf wrapped around his neck a few times and slung over his shoulder — clearly not a sign of good upbringing — he must have just returned from a brisk morning walk; his face reddened by the wind; he was cheerful, somewhat impudent, judging not just from his attire but from his whole attitude, his springy walk and open smile; while the councillor and I excused ourselves for the near-mishap, the young man hastened to his chair, nodding in all directions — he appeared to be on friendly terms with everyone — smiled, giggled, unwrapped his funny scarf and put it on the back of the chair, and the elderly lady across the table, who first became aware of the young man's presence by noticing the amazement on my face, now beamed at his lanky figure and seized his wrist with her ring-studded hand.
"Oh, ce cher Gyllenborg," she exclaimed, "quelle immense joie de vous voir aujourd'hui!"
He drew the ring-studded hand to him and kissed it gently, the gesture being at once less and more than gallant.
By then a waiter behind us whispered something into the councillor's ear, and at the same time the hotelkeeper appeared in the doorway, looking shocked, and then with a dumb expression in our direction seemed to be looking for our reaction to something that was about to happen.
Before taking his seat, the young man hastened to the delicately slender older lady enthroned at the head of the table. She leaned back in pleasurable anticipation of a kiss and offered up her clear brow framed by an elaborate silver-gray pompadour.
"Avez-vous bien dormi, Maman?" we heard him say.
At this point the councillor rose, kicking the chair out from under him with such force that it would have fallen over had a waiter not caught it, and dispensing with all etiquette, he dashed out of the dining room.
His squat figure had almost vanished in the dimness of the lounge beyond the glass door when he evidently changed his mind, turned, for a moment he and the hotelier stared at each other, and then the councillor rushed back and whispered something into the elderly lady's ear, who was none other — at last I can reveal it — than the Countess Stollberg, the mother of my childhood playmate and also the mother of the gloved young lady.
I had known this all along; I could have revealed my identity on the train but chose not to, because then inevitably my father's name would have come up, and in view of what had happened to him, I would have found it impossible to talk about him.
There was no one in the room now who did not sense that he was witnessing not just an unusual but a very grave event.
Suddenly there was silence.
The young man was still standing next to his mother's chair.
The two women rose slowly, and then all three of them hurriedly left the room.
The rest of us remained in the silence; no one wanted to stir; some clinking was the only sound to be heard.
And then in a voice touched with emotion, the hotelier announced that Count Stollberg was dead.
I stared at the prawns on my plate; perhaps everyone was staring at his plate; the young man stopped in front of his untouched place setting and picked up his scarf from the chair — I could see all this without taking my eyes off my plate.
"Bien! Je ne prendrai pas de petit déjeuner aujourd'hui," he said softly, and then added, somewhat inappropriately: "Que diriez-vous d'un cigare?"