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The red-haired judge, with straw hat and Mephistophelean limp, was
there, looking like an Offenbach villain out for a spree. After being
effusively greeted by the host--they understood one another
perfectly--and forced to eat a quantity of some pink-looking stuff which
he could not resist although knowing it would disagree with him, His
Worship, left to his own devices, hobbled along in pursuit of his new
friend Muhlen. He found him, and was soon relating succulent anecdotes
of his summer holidays--anecdotes, all about women, which Muhlen tried
to cap with experiences of his own. The judge always went to the same
place--Salsomaggiore, a thermal station whose waters were good for his
sore legs. He described to Muhlen how, in jaunty clothes and shining
shoes, he pottered about its trim gardens, ogling the ladies who always
ogled back; it was the best fun in the world, and sometimes--! Mr.
Malipizzo, for all his incredible repulsiveness, posed as an ardent and
successful lover of women. No doubt it cost money.


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