Lastly, Sophie paused in front of the gentleman Hans had noticed standing beside the windows. My dear Herr Hans, she said, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Herr Urquiho, Álvaro de Urquiho. Urquijo, the man corrected her, Urquijo, my dear Mademoiselle. Of course, Urquixo! laughed Sophie, excuse my ignorance. Hans pronounced his name properly. Álvaro de Urquijo bobbed his head, sweeping the room with his eyes as if to say “Welcome to this”. Hans noticed the hint of irony in his gesture and felt an instant liking for him. He confirmed that Urquijo’s German was flawless, although imbued with an accent that gave it an impassioned quality. Our dear Herr Ur, er, Álvaro, said Sophie, however much he might regret the fact, is now a true Wandernburger. Believe me, my dear Mademoiselle, smiled Álvaro, one of the few reasons I do not regret becoming a Wandernburger is that you should consider me such. My dear friend, Sophie retorted, raising a shoulder towards her chin, you must not be so subtle in your flattery, remember you are a Wandernburger now. Álvaro gave a loud chortle and refrained from replying, conceding the point to his hostess. Sophie took her leave with a swift gesture, and went to attend to Frau Pietzine, who was clutching her needlework with a look of boredom on her face.
The afternoon slipped by pleasantly. Under the auspices of Sophie, who facilitated occasional exchanges between them, Hans was able to study the other members of her salon more closely. Each time he was asked what he did for a living, Hans replied that he travelled, he travelled and he translated. Some understood from this that he was an interpreter, others a diplomat, still others that he was on holiday. And yet everyone responded politely: Oh, I see. The conversations ebbed and flowed. Sophie circulated from one to another, aided by Elsa and Berthold. Herr Gottlieb, slightly removed from the centre of the gathering, his whiskers curled around his pipe, sat in silence observing the proceedings ironically, sceptical of whatever was being discussed, but proud of his daughter’s easy grace. Whenever she spoke, he smiled benignly like a person who believes they know the person to whom they are listening very well. Sophie on the other hand glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and gave him the opposite kind of smile — that of someone who believes the person listening to them hasn’t a clue about their beliefs. Herr Gottlieb seemed to pay most attention to Professor Mietter, often agreeing with what he said. Contrary to what he had initially thought, Hans had to confess that the professor was extremely knowledgeable. Despite his tedious way of holding forth, he advanced his arguments in a rigorous and impeccably orderly fashion, without his wig shifting an inch. Professor Mietter is almost unassailable, thought Hans — he either uses simple logic to put forward his views or else imposes them thanks to his listeners’ inertia, since in order to refute his opinions it is necessary to break down each of his erudite arguments, which he erects like firewalls. Although Hans was careful not to contradict him during that first meeting, he knew that if they met regularly they were destined to clash. For his part, Professor Mietter treated him with a studied politeness that Hans found almost aggressive. Whenever the professor listened to Hans’s opinions, so at odds with his own, he would raise his teacup cautiously to his lips, as though not wanting to steam up his spectacles.
Hans thought Bertold was following Elsa around, or that Elsa was trying to avoid Bertold, or both. Despite her attentiveness, Hans sensed a rebelliousness in Elsa — her gaze was more direct than was usual among servants, as though behind her silence there was defiance. Although they had both been employed at the Gottlieb residence for roughly the same length of time, Bertold seemed to be part of the furniture, whereas Elsa gave the impression of just passing through. Bertold attended the guests obligingly, Elsa did so grudgingly. My dear! Frau Pietzine suddenly called out to her. My dear, go to the kitchen and ask if there are any meringues left, yes, thank you, dear, and so, darling Sophie, will you not delight us today with your piano playing? Really? Oh, I’m so disappointed! The piano when it is well played is so, so, I just adore the piano, don’t you think, Herr Hans, that our beloved Sophie ought perhaps to, well, to play a little welcoming piece in your honour? I think if we all insist, what do you mean you refuse! Oh don’t make us plead, child! Really? Next week, you say? That’s a promise? Very well, very well, but remember you’ve given your word! It’s my age, you see, Herr Hans, at my age music moves one so!
Whenever Frau Pietzine referred to her age, she would make a dramatic pause and wait for a fellow guest to pay her a compliment. Still unaware of this, Hans was not forthcoming with any praise. Frau Pietzine lifted her chin, blinked three times in succession and turned around to join in the conversation between Herr Levin and Álvaro. Hans edged closer to Álvaro, hoping to renew at the first opportunity the discussion they had left off previously. As soon as he exchanged a few ideas with Herr Levin, Hans had the impression he was far too condescending towards him really to agree with anything he said. He suspected Herr Levin of concurring with everyone not out of modesty, but because he was secretly sure of quite the opposite but was not prepared to argue about it. He also thought Frau Levin behaved towards her husband in the same way he did to the others. As for the Spanish guest, Álvaro, Hans was able to confirm what he had suspected — he was different from the others, not because he was a foreigner but because of some dissenting convictions that aroused Hans’s interest. Álvaro seemed willing to satisfy his curiosity — when Professor Mietter launched into one of his monologues, Álvaro would catch Hans’s eye, and a flicker of amusement would appear on Álvaro’s lips, which turned into a frank smile when Hans responded.
That afternoon Hans made these and other observations. And yet they all turned on the same axis, like threads around a bobbin — the focus, the real reason for his visit to the Gottlieb Salon, was beyond a doubt his desire to be close to Sophie. She spoke to him now and then, although their conversations never ran on, and it was always Sophie who broke them off on some pretext or other. So it seemed to Hans at any rate. Was it shyness? Or pride? Perhaps he was behaving inappropriately. Or possibly his conversation bored her. But if so then why had she invited him? That afternoon, Hans agonised over the meaning of Sophie’s gestures, conferring on each too much significance, veering constantly between enthusiasm and disappointment, sudden delight and petty resentment.
For her part Sophie had the impression that Hans, seemingly with impeccable courtesy yet with a certain underlying impertinence, had spent the entire afternoon creating small points of intimacy between them during their conversations. Sophie refused to tolerate this attitude for a number of reasons. Firstly, she had endless things to attend to during these gatherings, and was not about to neglect her duties in order to please anyone. Secondly, Hans was a newcomer, and should not expect any preferential treatment — this would be unreasonable and unfair on the others. Thirdly, she was of course a recently betrothed woman and her father was keeping an eagle eye on her from behind the veil of his pipe smoke. Finally, without knowing why, Sophie realised with annoyance that whenever she spoke to Hans her mind began to wander and she had inconvenient thoughts quite unrelated to the salon.
Even so, Sophie told herself as she swished her skirts from one end of the room to the other, these slight objections were not enough of a reason to stop inviting Hans to the salon — she could not deny that his contributions, more frequent as the hours went by, were original and slightly provocative, and would enhance the debates. And this was the only thing, Sophie kept saying to herself, the only thing that persuaded her Hans should be allowed to keep coming.