VII
“Before our removal to Paris we had already made several journeys abroad.
“Whenever we were able to spare sufficient money from the sale of our pictures – we were extremely frugal in our mode of living – we had travelled South, to study, to paint, and to become acquainted with the world. Lili had not been with us upon any of these trips. There were too many new things to see for Grete and I to find any time to devote to her. But as soon as we found ourselves again in our native studio, she reappeared – and then we had to acknowledge every time that we had really missed her.
“We spent almost a whole year in Italy without Lili. It was the most carefree year which I ever passed with Grete. The romance of the South was an indescribably splendid revelation to us two children of the North.
“How could we find time to play? Grete was at that time serenity itself. In Italy’s wonderland she never felt oppressed. She needed no distraction. Hence Lili was not conjured up by her.
“And yet Lili was probably more than ever closely bound up with us both. Only it was no longer a pastime. About that time I began to undergo a change in myself, the nature of which I did not then realize. I first became aware of it in Italy just at that time, through my influence upon others. In Florence an unfortunate person approached me. He was a wealthy foreigner. One day, after he had been dogging me for weeks, he spoke to me and suggested that I should take up my quarters in his villa, where I could pursue my studies as a painter to my heart’s content. I declined politely, but very firmly. After that I saw him frequently. I was always with a lady, either with Grete or in the company of a strikingly beautiful Sicilian. A very little more and I should have been obliged to challenge this poor creature to a duel with pistols.
“In Rome I had a similar adventure. In that city an American millionaire wanted me to accompany him to Egypt. He pestered not only me, but also Grete. He sailed alone to Alexandria.
“Never before had I been placed in such delicate situations. Why this happened just then in Italy I only realized much later. When Professor Kreutz recently saw in Paris a number of photographs taken of me during recent years, including some taken on my first Italian trip, he pointed to these very pictures with the words: ‘That was when Lili could be distinctly recognized in appearance for the first time.’
“In due course we returned to Paris.
“In the neighbourhood of the Ecole des Beaux Arts, on the left bank of the Seine, we stayed in one of the numerous small hotels. The landlord and his wife were not attractive, but their charming little daughter was a ravishing kitten. Their like is only to be found in Paris.
“Two pleasant rooms, painted bright red and greyish colours, were assigned to us. One of them overlooked an old neglected garden, and had a mysterious alcove, with red-diapered curtains. The factotum of the hotel, Jean by name, lost no time in telling us that Oscar Wilde had spent his last days in these two rooms. He had died in the alcove with the red-diapered curtains. As Jean was telling us this, the tears ran down his ill-shorn cheeks. He had reason to regret Oscar Wilde’s death. Many a twenty-franc piece had been given him by the unfortunate poet, with which to buy a few sous’ worth of cigarettes, and he had never been asked for the change, he added, as a delicate hint to us.
“For Grete and I these two quiet rooms were altogether delightful. We often sat in front of the broad window overlooking the garden and read page after page of the works of the poet, whom I had admired for many years. Gradually Grete and I came to know De Profundis and The Ballad of Reading Gaol by heart. They were lovely evenings.
“Quite close to the hotel we found our favourite café, ‘Chateau neuf du Pape’, where art students and poets met daily. A very modest little restaurant; but one could dine sumptuously there for one franc thirty. The wine was included in the price. Here we met our first Parisian friends.
“Shortly afterwards Grete was invited by the editor to contribute to a well-known Parisian illustrated periodical. He had, in fact, seen Grete’s pictures and sketches at her first exhibition in Paris.
“Grete was all on fire to begin her contributions immediately. But what should she offer? How quickly could she hunt up a suitable model?
“She looked at me inquiringly, hesitated a few moments, and then said: ‘What do you think if Lili …
“I confess that I was at first somewhat surprised. I too had forgotten Lili in the midst of the hubbub of Paris, just as I had during our first Italian trip. Here in Paris Grete had hitherto not required the company of Lili either for the purposes of her work or by way of distraction.
“‘Very good,’ I said; ‘but what shall she put on?’ “Lili’s ‘outfit’ had been left behind in Copenhagen.
Quite apart from the fact that Lili was considerably bigger than the very dainty Grete, the strictest separation of property was observed by us with regard to the wardrobe. “The most necessary things for Lili were quickly procured. She was not a little proud of her first real Parisian costume.
“Thus she came to life again in the heart of Paris. The sketches for which she sat as model were successful. Grete was radiant. She obtained considerable prices for her work and we were able to rent a pleasant studio for ourselves. We settled in Paris, and built up our circle of friends and acquaintances.
“I too was now painting a great deal, partly in Paris, partly in Versailles, where we passed the warm summer months.
“A few happy and harmonious years were now in store for Grete and me. Lili only appeared in our midst when Grete urgently needed her as a model. We earned good money and Grete could hire ‘strange models’.
“When we had put aside sufficient money for an educational tour, we set out again for Italy. Our objective was Capri. For years we had been longing to become acquainted with this paradise of sunshine.
“Scarcely had we arrived there than to our great delight we ran up against a painter from Florence whose acquaintance we had made during our first Italian journey. Nino we called him. Henceforth we were inseparable. Within a few days we had more acquaintances among the cosmopolitan artists with whom Capri was teeming than was always agreeable. Three or four times a day we met at the ‘Morgano’, and evening after evening we played chess and draughts. It went without saying that we mustered our full strength during bathing-hours on the tiny beach at Piccola Marina.
“Here we met one day a Scotsman, who always appeared in the company of a very pretty boy. When bathing the boy was transformed, to our astonishment, into a very nice girl.
“‘Just what I expected,’ declared a Venetian sculptor who belonged to our clique when this revelation burst upon us. ‘I knew it from the start! A girl cannot impersonate a man, neither can a man impersonate a girl. Those who have eyes to see can detect the deception immediately. Some superficial thing always gives the game away.’ The man’s name was Favio.
“Grete threw me a saucy look. I understood what it meant. At the hour of promenade the next afternoon Grete appeared in the company of a tall, slender young lady whom no one had hitherto seen in Capri. They strolled past the ‘Morgano’, where Grete had to return many curious greetings from friends and acquaintances. Suddenly Signora Favio, the sculptor’s wife, spoke to the two ladies, inquired after me, and expressed the hope that I was not ill, as no one had seen me that day. Would Grete and I like to come to a social evening at her villa near Monte Tiberio?
“Grete regretted that Andreas had been obliged to go to Naples to attend to some important business, and he would not be back until early the following morning.
“Then she introduced her beautiful companion ‘Mademoiselle Lili Cortaud … Signora Favio.’
“The signora had achieved her aim, and she hastened to invite Mademoiselle Lili with Madame Sparre to the social evening. We accepted with pleasure.
“The mystification succeeded beyond all expectation. Grete’s French friend was welcomed with extreme cordiality by the whole company. A well-known Norwegian lady novelist pledged Mademoiselle Lili in a lively toast as ‘the most perfect incarnation of French charm and Parisian elegance’. She did not stir from Lili’s side. She invited Lili to visit her in Norway.
“Lili and Grete were both delighted, for the enchanting, perhaps I should say the piquant, thing about this new friendship was that this passionate Norwegian had hitherto shown a striking aversion to me.
“In the following days Grete’s French friend gave a few more performances. In order to explain my continued absence, Grete told everybody who was curious on the point that her friend Lili and I did not get on at all well together. But Capri is a small place, and Lili was soon obliged to ‘depart’, in order to leave the field clear for me to return. Favio and all the others remained completely unsuspecting.
“When we returned to Paris, it frequently happened that after Grete had employed her as a model during the hours of daylight, Lili remained in bed during the whole evening. And if one or other of our intimate friends dropped in, she did not, as formerly, fly into another room, but stayed where she was and where the others were, and behaved charmingly.
“Gradually everybody came to like her. She was, as Grete was always obliged to acknowledge, the good fairy of all our little studio festivities.
“But everybody made a great distinction between Lili and me. Grete’s female friends, who treated me with almost ceremonial propriety, embraced Lili and petted her. So did Grete’s and my male friends.
“It was also strange that when Lili found herself among Grete’s lady friends – who, like herself, were artists almost without exception – she felt remarkably the most feminine of them all. At first the friends laughed somewhat heartily at this fact, but gradually observed that Lili’s feeling was genuine.
“And thus it came to pass that month after month Lili insisted with growing stubbornness on her rights, and gave place to me with increasing reluctance.
“In the Salon d’Automne, where we both exhibited, Grete and I had met a French sculptor, Jean Tempête. This acquaintance was to lead to new experiences for Lili.
“He possessed a summer-house in a small town on the Loire. Assisted by a number of friends, he intended giving a theatrical performance upon the tiny stage of this small town for charitable purposes. Balgencie was the name of the place.
“He invited Grete and me to take part.
“It proved to be a delightful drive. The small town was a miniature Rothenburg.
“The ‘theatre’, which was to be occupied by us that same evening, looked from the outside like a tobacco shop with a café attached. The interior was usually let for cinematograph exhibitions and dances. As there was only one piece of scenery, which, moreover, was useless for our purpose, Grete was immediately appointed scene-painter. With lightning rapidity she sketched the stage scenery for the revue, which had been composed by Jean Tempête himself.
“At six o’clock in the evening everything was ready, and at nine o’clock the performance was to begin.
“At seven o’clock Tempête and I went to the station, in order to fetch the only member of our company who was still missing, a young lady artist who for some reason or other had not been able to travel with the others. She had to play a minor part, that of a typical Parisienne.
“The train arrived, but our Parisienne was not on board. It was the last train before the performance.
“Tempête raved. Small as the part was, without the player the piece would collapse.
“‘Then we must ask Grete to step into the breach,’ I declared.
“Grete and I, who had only been invited to join the travelling party at the eleventh hour, did not belong to the company of players.
“‘An excellent idea!’ exclaimed Tempête, and the moment he entered the so-called hotel where we had found rooms, he pounced upon Grete immediately. Completely exhausted by her scene-painting, she was lying on a rickety sofa.
“‘Out of the question,’ she declared. ‘With the best will in the world, I cannot do it.’ Then she gave me a furtive look. ‘But perhaps … Lili can?’
“‘Who is Lili?’ asked Tempête. They all asked the same question.
“‘Don’t worry about that. The main thing is that she comes. She can play the part without any trouble,’ Grete assured the curious circle. She caught hold of Tempête, drew him aside, and gave him the necessary explanations. He shook with laughter, promised to hold his tongue, and then it was arranged that while Lili was being dressed he should initiate her into the part of the fast-dyed Parisienne in the seclusion of an hotel sitting-room.
“When evening came and the revue was launched in front of a crowded audience, not a soul in the hall suspected that Lili was not a genuine Parisienne. Moreover, the poetically-minded chemist of Balgencie, who was a member of the charity committee, was so enthusiastic over Lili that he sent a box of violet soap to the unknown beauty at her hotel.
“On this evening Lili became acquainted with her truest friend, Claude Lejeune, the tenor of the revue. He was the comic character of the evening. His mere appearance on the stage unloosed a storm of merriment. He was the only real artiste in this company of amateurs; that is to say, he was the only member of it who was not an amateur. “Earlier in the day I had already noticed this young artiste, who with his droll, lightning wit might have bobbed up in any Montmartre bar. He had completely irregular features and colourless, somewhat deep-set eyes, the whole capped by a funny, pointed nose. At first glance he would probably appear ugly, but if one looked at him somewhat longer one would become conscious of a remarkable geniality and kindliness which his whole personality radiated.
“If anything he had given me (Andreas) the cold shoulder, but his conduct towards Lili was of quite another character.
“It went without saying that, like the rest of his colleagues from Paris, he was soon ‘in the picture’. As for the rest, discretion was observed.
“And the citizens, who had arranged a charity ball after the performance was over, of which we ‘Parisians’ were to form the centre of attraction, saw in Lili, who at the desire of all the company had remained in her stage costume, the typical Parisienne. Wherever she showed herself, she was treated with exquisite courtesy. She enjoyed herself immensely. She was sought after more than any other dancer at the ball. When at length she found she could skip a dance, Claude Lejeune made his way towards her, bowed in his most amusing way, then, in order to show the most serious face in the world, screwed his monocle tighter into his eye, even blushed a little, and said almost solemnly: ‘Mademoiselle, may I, as soon as you have somewhat recovered, solicit the honour of being your dancing partner a number of times in succession?’ Lili looked at him somewhat surprised, and then nodded. And during this night they danced together many times.
They were both about the same height. During the dancing they scarcely spoke a word to each other. They danced, completely surrendering themselves to the rhythm of the dance.
“When the last dance was over, Claude bowed very low before Lili, blushed again, and said: ‘Mademoiselle, may I hope you will honour the excursion we are making tomorrow with your presence?’
“The other comrades also begged Lili, and she promised with a smile. Only the ‘Parisians’ took part in this excursion, otherwise Lili could hardly have been present. The day passed in perfect harmony, and it was arranged that everybody should meet again in Balgencie on the first of August, to spend their holidays together on the banks of the Loire. Lili was specially invited. She promised, on behalf of her brother Andreas. Lili henceforth called me by this name.
“That evening we returned to Paris.
“In August the ‘Paris gang’, as we called ourselves, half admiringly, half apprehensively, conquered the little town, together with the delightful bathing-place. it was hot, 85 degrees in the shade. Frequently we were obliged to prolong our day into the night, which was all the more amusing as by ten o’clock in the evening the little town was shrouded in darkness, whether the moon was full or new.
“The so-called respectable society of Balgencie kept at a distance from us, with the exception of Monsieur René, the deputy mayor. The ‘proper’ civic chief had been obliged for a long time to shift the official business on to the broad shoulders of Monsieur René, owing to chronic stomach trouble. Monsieur René, as everybody in the town called him, was a bachelor. He took part in all our nocturnal excursions through the environs of his town, and it was he who during those August days submitted to the town councillors solemnly assembled in the town hall a proposal to organize, with the help of the ‘Paris gang’, another civic function for charitable purposes. The proposal was unanimously accepted. The next day solemn invitations were delivered to Jean Tempête, Grete, and me, as well as to a few other prominent members of our party, to devise a programme for the function. We resolved to organize a water-carnival, with flower-bedecked boats, on the Loire. Cupid’s boat was to sail at the head of the procession of boats.
“Grete received instructions to prepare Cupid’s boat. “Monsieur René placed at our disposal an old broad-bottomed boat, as well as a boat-house, together with his wine cellar. When the rather shabby boat was at length transformed into Cupid’s festive gondola – the sail was a large red heart – and the launching had taken place, it transpired that, owing to its splendid, as well as very weighty, equipment, the craft was extremely difficult to steer. At Balgencie the Loire is very impetuous, and treacherous winds render a sail rather dangerous. It was therefore necessary for Cupid, as well as his attendant, to be strong swimmers. As no practised and daring swimmer could be discovered among the young ladies of the town, Jean Tempête very discreetly asked me if I could not assume Cupid’s rôle, provided Claude Lejeune was assigned to me as squire. I was known to be an excellent swimmer. I promised on behalf of Lili and also of Claude, who had meanwhile become a good friend of ours.
“Thus on the banks of this ancient township, into which Joan of Arc had made her entry as a warrior in steel and iron centuries before, Lili was dressed up as the boy Cupid. The carnival took place in glorious midsummer weather. The whole population stood on the shore and greeted Cupid with frantic cheers as he sailed in triumph upon the smooth glassy surface of the Loire. With his golden bow he shot a rain of arrows at the thousands of heads peeping through the trellis-work on the shore. And everybody believed that behind Cupid’s mask was concealed the typical Parisienne from the revue of the last charity performance.
“Upon Claude had devolved the task, after the carnival was over, of conducting Lili to her hotel through a crowd wild with enthusiasm, and when at length he brought her intact to her room, he looked at her long and then said, very quietly: ‘However you dress up and whatever you want to make me believe, you are a genuine girl.’ “He stopped, startled at his own temerity. Lili stared at him.
“‘What is the matter, Claude?’ she asked.
“‘Nothing,’ he said quietly, ‘nothing at all. Or is it something? But if I told Lili what I was just thinking and what I have been thinking all day, her brother Andreas would certainly be very angry with me.’
“Then he went, and when we saw each other again the following morning he looked at me shyly and kept out of my way. Lili had again disappeared.
“Year after year we all met again at Balgencie, where I gradually became accustomed to Lili’s and my double existence. Lili took part in the festivities and excursions. I painted very industriously, swam and drank many glasses of wine with the notabilities of the town. I had many friends there. All the inhabitants of the town knew me and were delighted to recognize their houses and gardens and themselves in pictures of mine, which might subsequently hang in the autumn exhibitions of Paris. But nobody in the town suspected the identity of the slender Parisienne who now and then strolled with Grete and
Claude through the alleys of the town and out into the country. These trips were among Lili’s most delightful recollections. In the early dawn, before any bedroom window was opened, the three of them would march out into the summer morning, and not until late in the evening, when the town had long since retired to rest, did they return, tired and happy. Claude was then Grete’s and Lili’s most delightful cavalier; he was their brother and protector, and the friendship between them became ever more intimate and permanent, a friendship which stood every test.
“It went without saying that this ‘triple alliance’ continued afterwards in Paris. Every Sunday Claude made his appearance, when he was the guest of the studio for the whole of the day. And in accordance with an unwritten law, Lili always received him at the door in the corridor. If, however, she was, by a rare chance, absent, and I had to open the door to him, we greeted each other in a very comradely way; he gave me his hand, asked about this and that; but I could always remark his disappointment. In the studio he would then look at my pictures, although quite cursorily; politics and similar topics were touched on in conversation and even the latest Parisian scandal. But it did not last long, at the most a quarter of an hour, and then Claude would look at me somewhat uncertainly. ‘I have not yet said good day to Grete.’ And then he would disappear into the little kitchen to join Grete.
“But if Lili opened the door to him on Sundays, he would at once go with her into the kitchen.
“In this connection I recall a little incident which happened just at that time.
“Claude had come to see us one weekday evening. Grete was not at home. I then suggested to him that we should visit some amusing dancing-bar in the Quartier Latin together. We landed in the Gipsy Bar, where Claude ordered the speciality of the house, namely a coffin-nail. This cocktail was not unworthy of its very promising name. A frequent repetition of the enjoyment of this drink during a day or a night is calculated to curtail considerably our sojourn here below. Perhaps it was this drink which prompted us to try out a new dance which Claude had recently seen somewhere. Moreover, it was the first time that he had danced with me. We had scarcely taken the first step before the manager made a dash at us and requested us to stop dancing immediately. The gentlemen must excuse him; he knew us both very well, but in his establishment, unfortunately, they did not allow two gentlemen to dance together.
“We duly explained to the strict gentleman that all we were concerned about was trying out a new dance. He answered: ‘Messieurs, I am sorry, but gentlemen are not allowed to dance together here. If I permitted it only for one occasion, and I know that in your case I am dealing with irreproachable gentlemen, my establishment would be over-run by persons of a certain type and its reputation would suffer injury.’
“We sat down again with a laugh, ordered a harmless apéritif, and then went home.
“The next evening Grete, Lili, and Claude visited the dancing-bar. Claude had, in the meantime, taught both ladies the same dance, and shortly after entering the bar Claude and Lili executed the extremely complicated dance amid the vigorous applause of the manager.
“Then he came over to Claude’s table, made a polite bow to Grete, and especially to Lili, and said: ‘I hope that your friend, whom I am sorry not to see with you today, has not avoided my establishment because he was irritated at the little incident of yesterday evening. Monsieur will understand.’
“‘Oh, we understand,’ answered Claude, ‘and I can assure you that my friend is not annoyed in the least.’
“The manager then turned to Lili and bowed again: ‘May I offer Mademoiselle my heartiest congratulations? Mademoiselle dances charmingly, charmingly.’ And then, turning to Claude: ‘Monsieur will admit that his partner of yesterday cannot be compared in the least with Mademoiselle.’
“In connection with this amusing encounter I must tell you about another experience, which also happened about this time.
“Together with Claude and Grete, Lili was sometimes invited to a smart artists’ club. The club evening usually consisted of a meal followed by a ball. One evening, Grete being tired, Lili went there alone with Claude, at his urgent request. A lady who was an intimate friend of ours and knew me as well as Lili – for the rest, nobody in the club suspected our double existence – made a point this evening of introducing Lili to a number of gentlemen, including her cousin, a nobleman who was no longer quite young. Hitherto Lili had declined to make fresh acquaintances on these club evenings, which were rare events for her. She was happy enough dancing with Claude, and did not need any other partners. Yet, before she could decline, her friend fetched her cousin: ‘My cousin, le Comte de Trempe – la Baronne Lili de Cortaud.’ The gallant Count immediately challenged Lili to a foxtrot. This dance was followed by several more. Lili could not refuse. Claude nodded to her merrily. Thus it happened that Lili danced with her new cavalier until far into the night. When at length, completely exhausted, she said farewell to him ‘for the present’, with the most solemn face in the world he begged ‘Madame la Baronne’, who, as his cousin had whispered, was staying with Grete for a few days, to allow him to pay his respects to her the following day. What else could Lili do than make the best of a bad job?
“When Lili reached home, Grete was fast asleep.
“The next morning, while Lili was telling Grete about her conquest in the club, the bell rang in the corridor. The Count appeared; he made profuse, apologies – Grete had opened the door – in case he was intruding, but he only wanted to inquire after the health of her guest, the Baroness Lili de Cortaud.
“Grete regretted sincerely that her visitor had already gone out, and showed the Count into the studio, where he immediately discovered portraits of Lili all over the place. He was beside himself with enthusiasm. Might he wait until the Baroness returned? Grete assured him that this would be a useless undertaking, as her visitor, who was also her sister-in-law, had been invited to dinner with friends.
“‘Oh,’ the Count then exclaimed, ‘so your husband – Monsieur Sparre – is brother to the Baroness.’
“In her distress Grete was obliged to admit this fact.
“‘ When may I perhaps have the pleasure of calling on Monsieur Sparre?’ asked the Count, almost flurried.
“Grete promised to let him know soon through his cousin.
“The following day – we were taking tea in our studio with a few friends and were just discussing Lili’s involuntary experience – the corridor bell rang again. The Count! “‘I am sincerely delighted,’ he began at once in his ceremonious way, ‘to pay you a visit’ (I could scarcely find time to usher him in). ‘As I have already told Madame Sparre, the day before yesterday I made the acquaintance of your sister, the charming Baroness, and I am most anxious to see her again.’
“Of course it was now very difficult to keep up the pose, but we succeeded in doing so, and I replied: ‘My sister will certainly be sorry to have missed the pleasure of shaking hands with you again, monsieur.’
“Grete and our visitors had great difficulty in strangling an outburst of Homeric laughter. I had to throw them a warning look. Without thinking, I continued: ‘Unfortunately, we are seeing very little of our sister these days, invited everywhere … very much sought after … scarcely home before midnight.’
“‘Yes, I quite understand that,’ said the Count, looking at me searchingly. My heart felt like an anvil trembling under the strokes of a hammer. He went on, speaking slowly and blinking through his monocle at every word: ‘It is very strange to me that you are brother and sister, for Madame de Cortaud does not resemble you in the least, my dear sir.’
“I agreed emphatically, and gave Grete an imploring look to keep a straight face. I had just finished a lengthy and tedious assurance that my sister and I did not resemble each other in the least, when the Count addressed to me an inquiry as to whether my sister was, as his cousin intimated to him, not engaged, was really free?
“Foolishly enough I did not contest this point. “Whereupon he made an exemplary bow and, without beating about the bush, declared: ‘Then, monsieur, I have the honour of offering the Baroness my hand.’
“I thanked him in the name of my sister and promised to inform her of his flattering offer. He then withdrew, amidst the exchange of numerous compliments.
“A moment later our studio was rocking with the roaring laughter of Grete and our visitors.
“I did not join in. Lili’s experience at the ball was taking her out of her depth. I had to think of a way out.
“‘Quite simple,’ cried Grete, whose laughter had brought tears into her eyes. ‘I will tell the cousin to inform the Count that his lady-love has been suddenly obliged to leave for Copenhagen for very urgent family reasons. For the present a return to Paris is out of the question.’
“And so it happened. A few postcards which we caused to be posted to the Count by a friend in Copenhagen, who had to forge Lili’s ‘handwriting’, gradually convinced him of the ‘hopelessness’ of his wooing.
“He never found out who Lili was.
“Even stranger was something that happened at the house of my sister and my brother-in-law in Copenhagen, where we were staying some months later on a visit.
“My little niece had seen pictures of Lili, and wanted to see this remarkable person for once ‘in the life’. So it was arranged that she should be present one Sunday afternoon, which my parents were also to spend with my relatives. My parents had not seen Grete and me for a number of years. Consequently father and mother were disappointed to learn on their arrival that I was not expected until later, as I had a very important call to make first. Suddenly the bell rang in the hall. The girl announced that a French lady was in the passage and wanted to speak to Madame Grete Sparre. The lady was brought in; Grete welcomed her in the most cordial manner. It was a friend from Paris – unfortunately she only spoke French. And … Father immediately began a conversation in French! Mother, who made him translate everything to her, was enormously proud of him!
“In the course of the conversation Mother suddenly warned Father that he should not keep so close to the window with the lady from Paris. It was the middle of winter. ‘Don’t forget,’ she said to Father, looking thoughtfully at the lady, ‘the lady comes from a much milder climate and is so thinly clad. Please tell her to sit near the stove.’ Then tea was served. And Father and Mother plied the foreign visitor with requests for the latest news from Paris.
“For a whole hour the ‘Parisienne’ kept up the deception in front of Father and Mother. When she suddenly disclosed her identity, they both covered their faces with their hands. They could no longer trust their own eyes.
“‘No, no!’ repeated Mother, after a long interval. ‘That Andreas and Mademoiselle Lili from Paris are one and the same person I cannot believe.’ ”