Man Into Woman - Chapter 7
We had undertaken several voyages abroad before our relocation to Paris. As soon as we had enough saved up from the sales of our paintings – after all we were quite humble in our standards – we had driven southward to study, to paint and to get to know the world. And only after having used the last of our travel funds had we gone on our way back to Copenhagen.

But Lili hadn't "come along" with us on these trips. There were too many new things to experience for Grete and me to busy ourselves with her.

But as soon as we were back to our atelier at home, she resurfaced. And then we had to realize each time that we had missed her. We had spent almost an entire year in Italy... without Lili.-

It had been the South least worrisome year I had ever spent with Grete.

The fairytale of the South became true for us two children of the , became an indescribably, wonderful revelation.

How could we find time to - - play with Lili? Especially Grete? She had been just so cheerful. She never felt oppressed in Italy's world of wonders. She needed no distraction. Which was the reason Lili was not conjured up during that time.....

And yet Lili was closer together with us than ever before. Just now it no longer was a game... I started to undergo a change of my own, without being quite aware of it at the time. This was demonstrated by how I affected others... especially back then in Italy. I was approached by an unlucky fellow in Florence. A very rich foreigner. One day, after he had followed my every step, he spoke to me, making the suggestion I come to live in his villa. I could pursue my painterly studies there as much as I wished to. I refused politely, but very vehemently. I saw him a couple of times after that. I was always in the company of ladies, either with Grete or in company of an exceptionally beautiful Sicilian. It almost came to the point of my having to challenge the poor creature at gunpoint.

I had a similar adventure in Rome. An American millionaire wanted me to come along to Egypt. He did not just assail me, but also Grete. He then sailed to Alexandria alone.

I had never experienced such delicate situations before. Why exactly in Italy I only realized much later. As Professor Kreutz was viewing photographs taken of me in the past couple of years, among them a few from my first trip to Italy, he pointed to these pictures and said: "At that time Lili is clearly visible for the first time."

And now we were off to Paris.

We took quarters in one of the countless small hotels close to the "Ecole de Beaux Arts," on the left bank of the Seine. The host seemed like an assassin to us, the hostess like a conglomerate of avarice, curiosity and uncleanliness. Their small, dearest daughter resembled a delightful kitten. Such a thing only exists in Paris... The one like the other and the third...
We were put up in cozy bright red and grey-white washed rooms. One overlooked the old, neglected small garden and had a mysterious alcove with red flower adorned drapes.

The hotel's factotum, a man named Jean, told us then that Oscar Wilde had spent his last days in those rooms... He supposedly died in the alcove with the red-flowered drapes... Tears ran down his badly shaven jowls as Jean related this to us. He had good reason to mourn the passing of Oscar Wilde. The grand, unhappy poet had handed him quite a few twenty franc pieces, to buy him cigarettes for a few sous. He never had to return the "change," what was supposed to be a careful nudge in our direction.

The two quiet rooms in which good old Wilde had suffered to his end, became doubly resonant for Grete and me. We often sat in front of the broad window facing the old garden, and time after time read many pages of the poet's books, which I had loved for years. "De Profundis" and the "Ballad of Reading Coel" Grete and I almost knew by heart. Those were nice evenings...

Close to the hotel we found our regular bar, "Chateau neuf du Pape," frequented mostly by art students. It was a very modest restaurant. But one could dine exquisitely for a franc and 30. Wine was included in the price. This is where we found our first Parisian friends.

Soon after, the editor of a well-known Parisian magazine asked Grete to work with him. He had just seen Grete's paintings and drawings in her first exhibition in Paris.

Grete was on fire to begin with her participation right away. But what should she offer? And where to quickly find a suitable model?

Grete looks at me questioningly, hesitates a few moments, then says: "What do you think, if Lili..."

I admit, I was surprised at first. I too had forgotten about Lili in the midst of Paris' turmoil, just as I did on our first voyage to Italy. Here in Paris Grete had not required any of the diversions or the company of Lili, until now.

"All right," I said then, "but what should she wear ..."

Lili's "wardrobe" had stayed behind in Copenhagen. Besides that, Lili was quite taller than the dainty Grete, and their wardrobes were kept strictly separated.

We quickly gathered the essentials for her. She was more than a little proud of her first Parisian costume.

So it came to pass that she resurfaced right in Paris... The works she modeled for made everyone happy. Grete was beaming. She received respectable sums for her works.

We were able to rent a pleasant atelier. We became settled in Paris, found our circle of friends and acquaintances.
I, too, was drawing a lot, partially in Paris, partially in Versailles, where we spent the hot months of summer.

A couple of harmonious, happy years for Grete and me passed by like this. Lili only showed up, when Grete urgently needed her as a model. We made good money. Grete could afford "strange models"...

And when we had enough money saved for an educational trip, we went to Italy once more. Our destination was Capri. For years it had been our desire to get to know this paradise of the sun.

Barely arrived, we were quite delighted to meet a painter from Florence there, whom we had met during our first trip to Italy. We called him Nino. We were inseparable from then on. After a few days we had lots of acquaintances, more than we always were comfortable with, among the international artists running around on Capri. Three or four times a day we met at "Morgano" and every night there was a game of chess or checkers going on. Of course everyone attended the small beach at "Piccola Marina" during bathing hours.

Here we met a Scotsman one day, who always appeared in company of a remarkably delicate boy. While bathing however, the boy transformed, to our surprise, into a very cute girl...

"But naturally!" a Venetian sculptor belonging to our clique exclaimed due to this "disclosure." "I knew it from the start! A girl can not disguise herself as a man, and the other way around. Whoever has eyes to see, sees through the deception at once. Some superficiality always gives it away." The man's name was Favio .

Grete looked at me saucily. I understood it... That afternoon during the hour of promenade, Grete appeared in company of a slender, tall, young lady, whom nobody else had seen before in Capri. They sauntered past "Morgano" where Grete suddenly had to return many curious greetings from friends and acquaintances. Suddenly, Signora Favio, the wife of the sculptor, asked about me, hopefully I wasn't ill, since nobody had seen me earlier that day... Would Grete and I not join them for a feast that night at their villa near Monte Tiberio...

Grete was sorry... "Andreas had to go to Naples for some important business. He would be back tomorrow morning at the earliest."

Then she introduced her companion " Mademoiselle Lili Courtot ... Signora Favio..."

The Signora had achieved what she had wanted to, and hurried to invite Mademoiselle Lili along with Madame Grete for the evening's feast, an invitation which was accepted happily.

The mystification was a great success, against expectations. Grete's French girlfriend was quite lovingly welcomed into the whole company of revelers. A well-known Norwegian writer ended up celebrating Mademoiselle Lili as "the most perfect embodiment of French charm and Parisian elegance." She did not stray from Lili's side. She invited Lili to her home in Norway. She drank with her to "brotherhood."

And Lili was beaming... And Grete no less. Because the most delightful thing, or rather more pointedly said, the most risqué thing, about this new friendship was that this fierce Norwegian woman had so far only adored me...

Grete's French friend gave a few more guest performances in the following days. To make my absence more understandable, Grete told everyone who wanted to hear it, that there was an unbridgeable animosity between me and her friend Lili... But Capri is small. Lili had to "depart" again soon and make space for me. Favio, like everyone else, did not suspect a thing...
- - -

As we returned to Paris from Italy, Lili's existence underwent a change soon after. It happened more frequently now that she, after Grete had used her as a model during the bright hours of the day, stuck around the whole evening. And when one of our more intimate friends came to visit, she did not flee as if hunted into the next room, but stuck around where she was, and where the others were, and was happy and in cheerful spirits.

Gradually everyone ended up liking her. She was, as Grete had to conclude, the good spirit and happy mood of all of our festivities in the atelier...

But everyone made a big difference between Lili and me. Grete's girlfriends, who acted almost ceremoniously towards me, hugged Lili, and addressed her without deferential pronouns. As did Grete's and my friends.

It was also strange that Lili, when she was among Grete's girlfriends, - who were almost without an exception artists,- felt the most female of them all. And the girlfriends initially laughed somewhat exuberantly about this, but gradually came to feel that Lili's impression was real.

And so it happened, that Lili insisted ever more stubbornly on her place, and only disappeared with increasing reluctance. Grete and I had met a French sculptor at the "Salon d'Automme," where both of us had exhibits. Jehan Tempéte. This acquaintance should be the introduction to new experiences for Lili.

He had a small summer home in a small town on the Loire. With a few friends he was about to set up a theater performance for charity on the tiny stage in town. The town's name was Balgencie.

He invited Grete and me to participate.

It was a fun train ride. The town was as if taken out of a toy box, a small Rothenburg...

The "theater" that we occupied the same evening, looked from the inside like a tobacconist's with adjacent café. Inside there was a movie theater and dance floor. Because there was only one stage decoration, which was also unusable, Grete was promptly dubbed headmaster of scene-painting. She quickly designed the "congenial stage scenery" for the revue, which had been written by Jehan Tempéte himself, who, just like the "composer" was a young lyricist, and author of the lyrics, a hopeful "rising tenor star" with us others, painters, sculptors and so on, were "put to work" by Grete right away, so the décor "could be allowed to shine."

At six in the evening "everything stood." At nine the performance was set to begin.

At seven at night Tempéte and I went to the train station to pick up the last member of our "ensemble" that was still missing, a young painter who could not have traveled together with the others for some reason. She had to play a smaller part, a "real Parisienne."

The train pulled into the station, but our "Parisienne" had not made it. It was the last train before the performance...

Tempéte was livid. No matter how small her role had been, without her the piece would "fall apart," the author explained, raving. -

"Then we have to ask Grete to fill in," I explained.

Grete and I, who had been invited to take part in the artist tour "in the eleventh hour," did not belong to the actual "ensemble."

"Excellent idea!" Tempéte cheered and immediately attacked Grete as he entered the so-called hotel in which we had found shelter. She was lying on a shaky divan, exhausted from decorating the theater stage.

"No way," Grete explained, "I can not do it, no matter how much I want to...." Then she glances at me, secretively. "But maybe... Lili... can."

"Who is Lili?" the overly nervous Tempéte asks. Everyone asks the same question.

"You shouldn't care about who Lili is. As long as she is coming out tonight. She will be able to play the role effortlessly," Grete explained to the curious circle, caught hold of Tempéte, pulled him away and gave him the necessary instructions regarding Lili's person. He was shaking from laughter, promised his silence. Then it was agreed upon that while Lili was outfitted, he would teach her the role of the "real deal" in the secret seclusion of a hotel room.... And as the revue was put on that night, nobody had even an inkling that Lili was not a real Parisienne... On top of this, the especially poetically inclined druggist from Balgencie, who belonged to the "charity commission," was enchanted by Lili so much, that he sent a box of violet-scented soap to her hotel room.

That night Lili got to know her most faithful friend. Claude Lejeune. The tenor of the revue. He was the comic of the evening. His appearance on stage alone caused veritable hurricanes of merriment among the audience. He was the only true artist among the dilletantes' ensemble that night.

I had taken note of this young, real Parisian artist, who could have
played any Montmartre tavern with his quick witted, dry humor. A totally uneven face, relatively colorless, somewhat crooked eyes and on top of that a funny, pointy nose. At first sight he might seem ugly. But if one observes this man for one moment, one would realize his intelligence and an odd warmth and kindness that his entire being radiated outward.

Me, Andreas, he ignored most of the time.

His behavior towards Lili was quite different.

Of course he was "in the know," just like the other colleagues from Paris. Everyone had long since accepted Lili. Because she looked good. And that was the main thing for them as artists. Otherwise, one was discreet.

And the citizenry who put up a "charity ball" after the show saw in Lili – who had remained in her stage outfit at the request of the company – just a "real Parisienne."

Wherever she let herself be seen, everyone treated her with exquisite courtesy. She enjoyed herself sublimely. She was among the most desired woman dancers of the ball. She went from arm to arm.

When she finally could skip a dance, Claude Lejenne stood before her, making a silly curtsey, then showed the world's most serious face, pinched his monocle even closer to his eye, even blushed a little and then said almost solemnly: "Mademoiselle, may I, as soon as you have relaxed a little, ask for the honor to be your dance partner a couple of times in a row please?"

Lili looked at him somewhat puzzled, nodded. And they danced many times during that night. They were both of the same height. They were a rhythmically perfect pair of dancers. They did not exchange a word while dancing. They danced fully having given themselves to the rhythm.

As the last dance was over, Claude Lejenne bowed deeply before Lili, blushed a little again and said: "Mademoiselle, may I hope that you will grace our communal excursion with your presence tomorrow?"

The other comrades too asked Lili... And laughingly she agreed. Only the "Parisians" came along on the excursion. Otherwise Lili would not have come. The day went by in the nicest harmony, and the group made plans to meet again in Balgencie at the first of August to spend the holidays together on the banks of the light blue Loire. Lili was invited especially. And she agreed to come, speaking also for her "brother Andreas." That's what Lili called me from there on out. And I had to go along with that.

That night we drove back to Paris.

In August the "Paris gang" as we were called by the locals, partially out of adoration, partially out of dismay, conquered the little town and its delightful beach. The thermometer showed 35 degree Celsius in the shade. So we oftentimes had to shift our days to nights, which was even more amusing. Because after ten the little town was dark, whether it was lit up by the full moon or under a new moon. Balgencie's so-called high society kept their distance from us, with the exception of Monsieur René, the deputy mayor. The "actual" head of the town had been forced to offload the business of running the town onto Monsieur René's broad shoulders due to a chronic stomach ailment. Monsieur René as everyone in town called him, was a bachelor. He took part in all our nightly roamings through the closer and farther surroundings of "his" town, and it was he who told the town councilmembers during a solemn meeting in city hall that he planned on having a "town festival" for charity at the end of the month, with the help of the "Paris gang." The suggestion was unanimously accepted. The next day formal invitations to work out the festival's program went out to Jehan Tempéte, Grete and me as well as to a few other "celebrities" of our gang. And we decided to have a water pageant, with flower decorated boats down the Loire. And Cupid's boat sailing at the head of the gondola pageant.

Our suggestion was enthusiastically accepted by the fathers of town in the "Hotel de Ville."

Grete received the task to arrange Cupid's boat.

Monsieur René gave us an old, broad barge as well as a small warehouse on the river including its wine cellar. When the pretty shabby boat had been transformed into Cupid's festive gondola – a giant, red heart was the sail – and after launch took place, it became clear that the vehicle had become somewhat difficult to steer, with the glorious yet heavy decorations on board. The Loire is quite torrential near Balgencie, treacherous winds make sailing dangerous. So Cupid's boat had to be manned by a Cupid capable of swimming well and a similarly capable attendant... And since there was no courageous, capable swimmer among the young ladies of town – Monsieur René had walked his feet sore – I was asked by Jehan Tempéte very discreetly if Lili could not take up the role of Cupid, if Claude Lejenne was assigned to her as "quiver squire." I was known as an excellent swimmer. I agreed in Lili's name. Claude, too, who had become a very good friend to us, was ready for the role of the squire.

And so Lili was dressed up as the boy Cupid on the banks of this ancient little town which Jeanne D'Arc had found her way into, clad in iron and steel as a warrior, centuries earlier.. The festival took place in the most glorious summer weather. The whole populace of the little town stood on the banks of the stream and gave phrenetic ovations to Cupid, who triumphantly drifted down the Loire's mirror-like waters accompanied by the other, equally picturesquely decorated boats. He shot a volley of arrows from his golden bow onto the crowd, a thousand heads strong, standing on the shore. And everyone believed that the "real Parisienne" from the charity festival was behind Cupid's mask...

Claude, as boat and quiver squire had received the task to accompany the masqueraded Lili after the festival through the raving crowds back to the hotel. When he had finally brought her to her room untouched, he looked at her for a long time, and then as if sunken within himself he said to her very quietly: "Cupid, you divine fool, however you disguise yourself and whatever you want to tell me, you still remain a real girl..."

He fell silent, startled. Lili looked at him with big eyes.

"What is with you, Claude?" she asked.

He had turned away from her. "Nothing." He said quietly. "Nothing at all. Or maybe something... But if I told Lili what I was thinking all day, her brother Andreas would be quite cross with me..."

And then he went away, and as we saw each other again the next morning, he looked at me meekly and avoided me. Lili had disappeared again.

- - - - - - - -

Year after year we found ourselves back in Balgencie in August. Festivities and excursions followed each other. And here in Balgencie I slowly grew accustomed to Lili's and my double existence. Lili took part in festivities and excursions. I on the other hand painted very diligently, swam and drank quite some bottles of wine with the town's luminaries. I had many, many friends here. All inhabitants of the small town knew me and looked forward to seeing their homes and gardens and themselves in my paintings, which afterwards would be allowed to be shown in the fall exhibitions of Paris. Everyone knew me. And I knew everyone. We were friends. Nobody in the little town sensed who the slender Parisienne really was, who now and then rode her bicycle through the small streets of town and into the countryside with Grete and Claude. These rides are among Lili's happiest memories. At dawn, before any bedroom window had been cracked open, the three went out into the shining world of summer mornings. And they returned only late into the evening, when the little town had already gone to sleep, tired and happy... Claude then was the most delightful knight of Grete and Lili, he was their brother and protector, and the friendship between them grew closer and more lasting, a friendship that weathered every test.

Of course this "triple alliance" was continued in Paris. Claude came by every Sunday. He then was "guest of the atelier" all day. And following an unwritten law, Lili always received him at the door. If on a rare chance she had stayed away, and if I was the one opening the door for him, then we greeted each other companionably, shook hands, and he asked me about this and that, but I could still sense his disappointment. In the atelier he then observed, if only fleetingly, my new paintings. Politics and such were touched upon in conversation, and also the latest Paris scandals. But it did not take long, maybe fifteen minutes, and my dear Claude looked at me a little meekly. "Will you please excuse me, I have not said hello to Grete yet." And with that he was in the small kitchen with Grete.

However if Lili was his Sunday door opener, then he went into the kitchen right away. "You understand, we don't want to leave Grete alone with the food," he told me, jokingly.

That reminds me of an event that was happening just during that time.

Claude had come by our place during a weekday evening. Grete was not home. I suggested we go to some fun dance bar in the Quartier Latin. Claude knew all the bars, was a regular everywhere. We ended up at the "Gipsy-Bar," where Claude ordered the "house specialty," namely a "Clou de Cerceuil," a "coffin nail" in English. This cocktail had a reason for its promising name. A frequent repetition of enjoying this "drink" during one day or one night would shorten one's time here considerably. Maybe this "drink" caused us to try out a new dance Claude had first seen somewhere around here recently. So we danced together. It was the first time, by the way, that he danced with me. Very soon after we had gone through the first steps, the "manager," the "waiter," came rushing towards us and pleaded us to immediately stop this dance. "Ces Messieurs have to excuse this please, he knew us both very well, but in his establishment it is sadly not admissible for two men to dance with each other..."

We explained to the strict man laboriously that it was just the case that the two of us simply wanted to try out a new dance quickly. He replied: "Messieurs, I am desperate, but I have to give my veto. Men must not dance with each other here. If I allow this just one single time, and I know, that the two of you are impeccable gentlemen, my establishment will be overrun by certain people, which then would endanger the good reputation of my establishment..."

We sat back down, laughing, ordered a harmless aperitif, and started walking homeward.

The next night Grete, Lili and Claude went back there. Claude had taught the new dance to the two ladies, and shortly after entering the bar, Lili and Claude performed the quite complex dance without error and with exited ovations of the "manager."

Then he stepped to Claude's table, bowed gallantly before Grete and especially before Lili and said: "I hope your friend who I am missing dearly tonight is not begrudgingly avoiding my establishment because of last night's small incident. Monsieur will certainly understand..."

"Oh, we certainly do understand," Claude replied, "and I assure you my friend does not bear a grudge at all."

And the manager turned to Lili: "May I give Madame my deepest compliment. Mademoiselle dances quite charmingly, so charmingly." And then turned to Claude: "Monsieur will admit that Monsieur's partner from last night can't even remotely compare to Mademoiselle..."

In connection to this funny "encounter" I have to briefly talk about another experience that happened around this time as well.

Together with Grete and Claude, Lili was the guest of a quite fashionable artist club. The club nights usually were a dinner with subsequent ball. One night Lili went there alone, following Claude's incessant pleading, when Grete was too tired. A lady belonging to our closest, most intimate circle, who knew Lili as well as me, was also there. Nobody in the club had any idea of our double life. She made it her pleasure for the night to introduce Lili to a couple of gentlemen, among which was her cousin, a no longer quite so young count and hussar officer. Until now, Lili had bristled to make new acquaintances on these club nights, which were rare for her. She was happy being allowed to dance with Claude. She did not need anything else to be happy. But before she could defend herself, the girlfriend had brought over her cousin: "My cousin, le Compte de Trempe.... La Baronne Lili de Courtaud!" The very elegant count immediately asked Lili to dance a foxtrot with him. Several more dances followed that one. Lili could not defend herself. Claude just nodded along amusedly. And so it came that Lili danced the night away with her new cavalier. As she exhaustedly said her goodbyes "for now," he, with the most solemn face in the world, asked for the award of being allowed to visit "Madame la Baronne" in the following days, who as his cousin had whispered to him, was visiting Grete for a few days. What else could Lili do but play along?...

When Lili came home, Grete was fast asleep.

The next morning, just as Lili had told her of her "conquest in the club," the doorbell rings. The count has appeared, apologizes profusely, - Grete had opened the door, - if he was intruding... he just wanted to take the opportunity to ask about the well-being of her guest, the "Lady Baroness Lili de Courtaud."

Grete apologized sincerely that her visitor had already left, and led the count into her atelier... There he then discovered Lili in several paintings, in the flesh... He was beside himself with joy. If he could be allowed to await the baroness' return. Grete was sorry that this was a useless endeavor, since her visitor, who was by the way her sister-in-law, had been invited to dinner by friends...

"Oh," the count exclaimed, "so your dear husband, Monsieur Sparre, is the brother of the Lady Baroness..."

In her distress Grete has to admit this "fact."

"When might I have the pleasure of visiting Monsieur Sparre," the count asked, almost excitedly.

Grete promised to give him news through his cousin...

The following day,- we were sitting down for tea with friends in our atelier, – we had just related Lili's involuntary experience, – when the doorbell rang again. -The count!

"I am sincerely delighted," he begins immediately and ceremoniously, "to pay you my respects," I barely find time to get him indoors, "As I told Madame Sparre I made the acquaintance of your sister the day before yesterday, the charming baroness, and I am quite invested in seeing her again..."

Of course now it became a little difficult to maintain my composure.

But I succeeded in maintaining it, and replied: "My sister will certainly be sad to again be denied the pleasure of squeezing your hand, Monsieur..."

Grete and our tea-time visitor had a hard time smothering a Homeric outburst. I had to throw them a scolding glance. - And then I continued: "Sadly one sees little of my sister these days... She is getting invited everywhere... many idolize her... and rarely comes home before midnight..."

"Yes, I quite understand that," the count said, then looked at me quizzically, I felt my heart like an anvil quaking from hammer blows, and then he spoke very slowly, every word accompanied by a twitch of his monocle, and fixating me directly: "It is strange, by the way, that you are siblings. Madame de Courtaud does not bear the slightest similarity to you, dear Sir."

I agreed vehemently, sent a begging glance to Grete to keep her composure... Because just as I had gotten my reassurance that my sister and I didn't resemble one another at all, "detailed" through a true deluge of words, the count openly asked me the question, if my sister was, as his cousin had related to him, not engaged to anyone, and truly still free...

Which I foolishly did not deny.

To which he reacted with an exemplary bow and the immediate declaration: "Monsieur, then it shall be my honor to, with these very words, ask for the hand of the Lady Baroness in marriage."

I had difficulty keeping myself upright in my chair, thanked him in the name of my sister, and promised to pass on his honorary proposal. - Following this, he left, while exchanging countless compliments...

And a moment later our atelier was shaken by the droning laughter of Grete and our tea-time visitor...

I wasn't laughing. The experience Lili had made at the ball went too far for my taste. I was thinking of an escape...

"It's simple," Grete exclaimed, tears pearling out of her eyes from laughing, "I will have the cousin whisper to the good count that his beloved had to head over heels and very suddenly depart to Copenhagen to attend to some urgent family matter. And that it had been impossible to delay her departure, with a return to Paris unthinkable as of now."

And so it happened. A few postcards which we got to his address through a friend in Copenhagen, who then also had to forge Lili's "handwriting," succeeded in convincing him of the "futility" of his courtship...

He never got to know what mystery was connected with Madame la Baronne le Courtaut Courtaud.

- - - -

The scene that happened a few months later in Copenhagen, where we were visiting my sister and brother-in-law, would seem even stranger.

My young niece had seen several pictures of Lili and wanted to finally meet this strange person "in real life." It was finally decided that she should join us on a Sunday afternoon when my parents and relatives were over for tea time. My parents had seen neither Grete nor me for a few years. Father and Mother were somewhat disappointed when they heard upon arrival that I would join later, since I had to make a very important visit beforehand. Suddenly the doorbell rings. The maid reports there was a French lady in the hallway who wanted to talk to Grete Sparre... The lady is led inside, - her dress was very fancy, Grete greeted her warmly... This was a friend from Paris... who unfortunately only spoke French, she said... Father immediately started a conversation in French with her, which made Mother, who had him translate everything for her, very proud.

During the conversation Mother suddenly called Father's attention to the fact that the lady from Paris should not be standing so close to the window. - It was the middle of winter.- "Don't forget," she said, caringly observing the lady from Paris, to Father, "the lady comes from a much milder climate and is dressed so thinly. Ask her to sit down close to the fireplace."

Then tea was served. And Father and Mother had the foreign visitor tell them the latest news from Paris.

"The Parisienne" had kept Mother and Father in suspense for a whole hour. And when I finally dropped the disguise, Mother and Father literally clasped their hands above their heads, and didn't want to believe their own eyes.

"No, no," Mother kept repeating long after, "that Andreas and Mademoiselle Lili are the one and the same being... I can barely believe it..."