"Wie geht's, Schmitz?"

"Sehr gut, Herr Oberleutnant!." Salute. We climbed in and settled into the green leather seats, the door slammed, the coachman climbed up onto his bench, picked up the reins and made a clicking sound with his tongue. The two glistening brown geldings broke into a trot. On rubber tires we rolled out of the station, through the village and up into the wooded hills.

"Don't the Waldsteins have a car?" I asked.

"Yes, of course. Bobby has a Bugatti racer and the Baron has a big old Horch, but they want to keep the horses and they want to keep Schmitz, so they still have this carriage. It was useful in the War, when there was no gasoline."

The wind blew in our faces. Automobiles roared past as we clip-clopped steadily up a long straight road through the woods. Finally we reached the summit - and a breathtaking view across the wide blue Havel River, glistening in the May sunshine, dotted with white sails, bulging out into the bay of the Wannsee to our left. Directly below us was a small peninsula, really an island connected to the mainland by a narrow bridge. Christoph pointed. "That's it."

The coachman pulled his brakes. The horses wanted to run now, but he reined back hard, forcing them to hold the coach in a fast controlled walk as we descended the steep slope toward the water. When the hoofs pounded on the wooden planking of the bridge he gave them their head and we shot up into a dark lane bordered on both sides by walls and lilac hedges and huge old oaks and copper beeches. The lane seemed to be circling the core of the island. Occasionally there was a break in the greenery and I caught a glimpse of bright blue water.

We came to the end of a long stucco wall. The horses, now slowed to a walk, turned to draw us between two gateposts into a broad pebbled driveway. I had the impression of some whitewashed gatehouses, a large lawn and, in front of us, partly concealed by massive horse chestnuts and copper beeches, a very large and very old white manor house.

Half a dozen shiny, expensive cars were parked down one side of the driveway, and in a shady garden beside one of the gatehouses, a group of chauffeurs were sitting around a table, their caps off and their jacketts unbottened, drinking beer

"Was ist denn heute los?" inquired Christoph, as Schmitz opened the door for us, but I didn't understand the reply, which caused Christoph to grumble something indicating mild displeasure.

"Grosse Tiere," he said, leading me across the driveway and toward the gardens at the left of the big house. "How do you say that? Big animals? Important people?"

"We say Big Shots."

"Oh yes. We have some Big Shots here this afternoon. Minister Rathenau and Professor Liebermann."

Neither name meant anything to me.

"They are all down at the lake in the Tea House," said Christoph. I think we go down the back way and come along the lake front, we don't make such a grand entrance then, we come in quietly, all right?"

He led me across another lawn, then through a charming maze of yew hedges, past two greenhouses and a meticulously cultivated vegetable garden, then down another pebble-covered path descending steeply through a thick forest. Below us the water glistened through the trees.

"Who are these Big Shots?" I asked him.

"You have not heard of Walther Rathenau? He is our foreign minister. A very brilliant man. A very rich man. His family owns electric companies. He has written books about - well, about politics, economics, the future - very complicated things, but most important, he wants to ...he thinks we have to pay the debts the Allies have imposed upon us at Versailles, he thinks we must do something to ... accommodate the French and the English before our economy can recover-and many people hate him. He has just made a treaty with the Russians, with the Bolsheviks, with Chicherin at Rapallo, some people believe it was a master stroke to make the French take us more seriously, but many hate him. He is a brilliant man but not an easy man to like."

"And who's the other one? The professor."

"Ach, Professor Liebermann, Max Liebermann, you will like to meet him, he is one of our best painters, a wonderful old man, and very funny sometimes."

"And why are they all here?" I asked. We were coming down toward the water now. I could see a tiny beach, a rowboat pulled haIf out of the water, and tall, swaying reeds.

"Well, they come here for tea, to see their friends - they are old friends of the Waldsteins, I don't think there is any special reason today....Oh, now we have a happy surprise!"

As we came down to the water and turned into another path, we saw a young woman sitting on a bench, reading a book and gently rocking a baby carriage. She was sitting under one of the enormous weeping willows that lined the waterfront, arching their branches far out over the stone seawall and trailing into the lake.

She looked up as she heard us, frowning first, then smiling a dazzling smile as she rose. "Christoph!"

We advanced, they shook hands, we were introduced: "Sigrid von Waldstein... and this is her daughter, Marie."

Marie was asleep in the baby carriage, a tangle of blue-black curls.

They spoke in German, but I could understand them.

Why wasn't she with the others?

A shrug and still the dazzling smile. Langweilig! Boring. How was Paris? Did Bobby behave himself? How is Kaspar?

She turned to me. "My English is not good, I'm sorry. My husband, his English is very good."

She asked if we would stay for dinner, with her and AIfred. It was explained that they had their own house, a cottage above the stables on the other side of the road. Christoph said we would be happy to have dinner with them.

"Now you go shake hands with Dr. Rathenau," she said. We walked along the waterfront, under the weeping willows. The screen of reeds disappeared, and through the willow branches we could see the lake and the sailboats and the sandy beaches on the opposite shore.

"That's a lovely girl," I said.

"Yes, isn't she. Her father was a general."

"Like yours."

"Younger than mine. But he is dead, an auto accident in France."

"She looked - a little strange when she asked about Kaspar

"She was Kaspar's girl."

"His fiancée?"

"Not officially. They were too young. But he loved her very much. He still does. That is another reason he is so angry."

"What happened?"

"What happened? Another man came along ... older, stronger, famous, rich - our poor Kasparle did not look so attractive anymore - and what could he offer? Her mother is a widow, the older brothers also killed, the younger brother still in school, they have a big estate out in the Mark and not enough money even to pay the mortgage or to feed their horses.... No, she did the only thing she could do."

We were coming up to the Tea House now, really more of a pavilion on a flagstone terrace over the water, a thatched roof supported by heavy wooden pillars. Maybe twenty people were sitting on wicker chairs in several circles, the women in flowered dresses and summer hats, the men mostly in dark business suits. Two uniformed maids were passing trays with cakes and pastries. Below the terrace was a small floating dock. A glistening motorboat swayed gently beside the dock, and Bobby von Waldstein, in white duck trousers and a white shirt, was helping a young girl put what looked like some kind of an aquaplane into the boat. The girl wore a black wool cardigan over a black bathing suit. On the ramp connecting the dock with the terrace stood an old woman, who was dressed in an extraordinary costume - black embroidered blouse, black skirt that touched the ground and an enormous white bonnet that stretched a foot above and behind her head. The woman was shouting at Bobby and the girl, but they were paying no attention to her. She put her red hands on her hips and moved toward the terrace shouting, 'Frau Baronin! Frau Baronin!" until one of the ladies in flowered dresses rose and walked toward the railing, and at that moment Bobby looked up and saw Christoph and me.

He smiled, and waved and put on the blue blazer that was draped over one of the pier supports and came bounding up the ramp, right past the old woman in the bonnet. Behind him the girl in the bathing suit turned around to see where he had gone. She looked up and our eyes met.

PROLOGUE - THURSDAY, JUNE 15, 1922
I. HOW I GOT THERE
1. PARIS 1922
2. VERDUN 1916
3. IT'S STEALING MONEY, ISN'T IT
4. WHERE WERE YOU IN 1919?
5. RELIABLE TROOPS
>6. AN ISLAND
7. BISMARCK FOUND THEM USEFUL
8. INTRODUCTIONS
9. THE LITTLE HOUSE
10. INDIAN CROSSES
11. ANOTHER PART OF TOWN
12. A VIEW OF THE GENDARMENMARKT
13. TWO FOR TEA
14. ON THE TOWN
15. A VIEW OF THE HAVEL
16. REIGEN
II. WHAT HAPPENED
17. THURSDAY, JUNE 15, 1922
18. MONDAY, JUNE 19, 1922
19. WEDNESDAY, JUNE 21, 1922
20. FRIDAY, JUNE 23, 1922
21. SATURDAY, JUNE 24, 1922
22. WHAT HAPPENED?
III. THE WITCHES' SABBATH
23. SILENCE WITH VOICES
24. THE JUDGMENT OF   PARIS
25. SAME SONGS, DIFFERENT SINGERS
26. THEY'RE ONLY GOING TO HIRE HIS VOICE
27. INFLATION WORKS IN DIFFERENT WAYS
28. SMALL CHANGE
29. WHY NOT PAINT LILI?
30. COLD WIND IN MAY
31. ROLLING THUNDER
32. WALDSTEIN'S VOICE
33. THE MATTER OF A DOWRY
34. A RUSSIAN WORD AND A GERMAN WORD
35. THE MARCH ON BERLIN
36. A PIG LOSES MONEY ALL THE TIME
37. THE ARTISTS' BALL
IV. STRIKE TWELVE ZEROs
38. AMYTAL DREAMS
39. LETTERS
40. PROFESSOR JAFFA'S PROGNOSIS
41. THE OTHER SUBJECT
42. ROLLING HOME