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with flags. The Reichskanzler, the Führer of the N.S.D.A.P., had been motoring and flying all

over his land making campaign speeches. After his overwhelming triumph he had sought his

mountain retreat, to brood and ponder new policies; and now, refreshed and reinspired, he

came to his favorite city, the one in which his movement had been built and his crown of

martyrdom won. Here he had been a poor Schlawiner, as they called a man whose means of

subsistence they did not know, a Wand- und Landstreicher, who made wild, half-crazy speeches,

and people went to hear him because it was a Gaudi, or what you would call in English a "lark."

Munich had seen him wandering about town looking very depressed, uncouth in his rusty

worn raincoat, carrying an oversize dogwhip because of his fear of enemies, who, however,

paid no attention to him.

But now he had triumphed over them all. Now he was the master of Germany, and Munich

celebrated his arrival with banners. Here in the Braune Haus he had the main headquarters of

the party; a splendid building which Adolf himself had remodeled and decorated according to his

own taste. He, the frustrated architect, had made something so fine that his followers were

exalted when they entered the place, and took fresh vows of loyalty to their leader and his all-

conquering dream.

Mabel Blackless, alias Beauty Budd, alias Madame Detaze, had done some conquering in her

time, and was still capable of dreams. "Oh, Lanny!" she exclaimed. "Do you suppose you could

get him to come to the exhibition? It would be worth a million dollars to us!"

"It's certainly worth thinking about," conceded the son.

"Don't delay! Telephone Heinrich Jung and ask him to come. Pay him whatever he wants,

and we'll all stand our share."

"He won't want much. He's not a greedy person."

The young Nazi official was staggered by the proposal. He feared it was something far, far

beyond his powers. But Lanny urged him to rise to a great occasion. He had worked hard

through the electoral campaign and surely was entitled to a few days' vacation. What better way

to spend it than to pay his compliments to his Führer, and take him to see some paintings of

the special sort which he approved?

"You can bring them to him if he prefers," said Lanny. "We'll close the show for a day and

pick out the best and take them wherever he wishes." He spoke with eagerness, having another

scheme up his sleeve; he wasn't thinking merely about enhancing the prices of his family

property. "If you can get off right away, take a plane. There's no time to be lost."

"Herrgott!" exclaimed the ex-forester. He was in heaven.

Then Lanny put in a long distance call to Kurt Meissner in Stubendorf. Kurt had refused an

invitation to Berlin because he couldn't afford the luxury and wasn't willing to be put under

obligations. But now Lanny could say: "This is a business matter. You will be doing us a service,

and also one for the Führer. You can play your new compositions for him, and that will surely be

important for your career. Heinrich is coming, and we'll paint the town brown." He supposed

that was the proper National Socialist formula!

Irma took the phone and added: "Come on, Kurt. It will be so good for Lanny. I want him to

understand your movement and learn to behave himself." Impossible for an apostle and

propagandist to resist such a call. Irma added: "Take a plane from Breslau if that's quicker. We'll

have a room reserved for you."

III

Somewhat of an adventure for Beauty Budd. Six years had passed since Kurt had departed from

Bienvenu and had failed to return. He had found himself a wife, and she a husband, and now

they would meet as old friends, glad to see each other, but with carefully measured cordiality; their

memories would be like Marcel's paintings hanging on the walls—but not for public showing.

Parsifal Dingle was here, and he had heard much talk about the wonderful German composer

who had lived for so long with the Budds. He hadn't been told that Kurt had been Beauty's

lover for eight years, but he couldn't very well have failed to guess. He never asked questions, that

being contrary to his philosophy. A wise and discreet gentleman with graying hair, he had found

himself an exceptionally comfortable nest and fitted himself into it carefully, taking up no more

than his proper share of room. He cultivated his own soul, enjoyed the process, and asked nothing

more of life. If a German musician who had read Hegel, Fichte, and others of his country's

philosophers wished to ask questions about the inner life, Parsifal would be glad to answer;

otherwise he would listen to Kurt play the piano in their suite and give his own meanings to the

music.

Friendship to Lanny Budd had always been one of life's precious gifts. Now he was happy to

be with Kurt and Heinrich again; yet he was torn in half, because he wasn't really with them,

he was lying to them. How strange to be using affection as a camouflage; feeling sympathy and