After dinner, the Zoe family and their guests gathered in the drawing room, where Mr. Zoe, with a wry smile, masterfully steered the conversation toward Mr. Reiner Braun's favorite subjects: his benefactor, Lord Rod Reiss; the grandeur of the Reiss estate; and the frail but highly esteemed daughter of the house, Miss Frieda Reiss. Mr. Zoe settled comfortably into his armchair, his expression betraying just the faintest hint of amusement, as Mr. Braun eagerly launched into his monologue.
"Ah, Lord Rod Reiss," began Mr. Braun, his voice dripping with reverence as he clasped his hands before him, as if offering a prayer to the man himself. "A man of unparalleled virtue and vision, whose wisdom surpasses that of mere mortals. His estate, as you know, is a veritable Eden, unmatched in its splendor. The gardens alone are a testament to his refinement—a living tapestry of blooms that rivals even the works of the Almighty. And the great hall! A sanctuary of elegance and grace, where every beam and stone seems imbued with his noble spirit."
He paused dramatically, glancing around the room as though daring anyone to contradict him. Satisfied with the silence, he pressed on.
"And Miss Frieda—poor thing," he continued, his tone softening to one of almost theatrical sorrow, "is a vision of grace and fortitude despite her condition. Though she is frail, she possesses a light that outshines even the grand chandeliers of the Reiss estate. She bears her trials with a patience that humbles even the most devout among us. A true angel on earth, destined to inherit not only her father's wealth but his legacy of magnanimity and moral perfection."
Mr. Braun placed a hand on his chest, as if overcome by the thought. "One cannot help but feel inspired by her resilience. The Reiss name, with all its glory and responsibility, rests on her delicate shoulders, and yet she bears it with such quiet dignity. Truly, it is a privilege to serve such a family, a beacon of virtue in these turbulent times."
Petra, seated beside her father, exchanged a fleeting glance with Hange, who barely suppressed a snort of laughter. It was no secret that Mr. Braun's admiration for the Reiss family bordered on the absurd, and Hange, with her usual irreverence, found endless amusement in his grandiosity.
"One must admire your devotion to Lord Reiss," Mr. Zoe remarked, his tone so even and unassuming that it danced precariously on the edge of sincerity and satire. Only those who knew him well would catch the flicker of mischief in his eyes, the barest upward twitch of his lips. "Though I must say, it is somewhat unusual to hear such ardor from a man of the cloth."
Mr. Braun blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the remark, though he quickly recovered, puffing out his chest with an air of wounded dignity. "Oh, but it is not mere admiration, Mr. Zoe. It is respect—deep, unwavering respect—for a man of station, of duty, and of noble intent. To serve such a house as the Reisses' is, dare I say, a privilege beyond measure. A calling, if you will, of the highest order."
"Indeed," Mr. Zoe replied, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together in a picture of deliberate nonchalance. "Though one wonders whether such worldly attachment might, perhaps, distract from the higher calling of, oh, I don't know—heavenly matters?"
Mr. Braun's smile tightened, and for a fleeting moment, his confident facade wavered. He cleared his throat, adopting the kind of strained benevolence one might reserve for a particularly impertinent parishioner. "Surely, sir," he said with great deliberation, "the Lord above would not begrudge a humble servant his appreciation for the virtues of order and rank. After all, it is through such worldly instruments that divine grace is often manifested."
"Ah, of course," Mr. Zoe said smoothly, tilting his head ever so slightly. "I imagine it's written somewhere, perhaps in an epistle yet undiscovered, that the path to heaven is paved with... the fine gravel of Lord Reiss's carriageway?"
There was a momentary pause, and in that instant, Hange, who had been following the exchange with barely concealed glee, leaned toward Petra and whispered loudly enough to be overheard by half the room, "I wonder if he's writing sermons or sonnets in Lord Reiss's honor. I suppose 'Ode to the Perfect Estate' has a nice ring to it."
Petra clapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders trembling with barely suppressed laughter, and quickly ducked her head as if examining the embroidery on her skirt. Across the room, Sasha, who had been munching on a biscuit with single-minded determination, nearly choked at the comment and dissolved into a fit of coughing, prompting a flurry of concern from her sisters.
Mr. Braun, however, either did not hear Hange's remark or chose to ignore it, his composure slipping just enough to reveal a faint flush creeping up his neck. "Ahem," he said, straightening his posture and clutching his lapels. "I assure you, sir, my admiration for Lord Reiss does not eclipse my devotion to the Lord Almighty. They coexist harmoniously, as do faith and reason, or..." He faltered slightly, searching for a suitable comparison. "Or... prayer and the psalms."
"Prayer and the psalms," Mr. Zoe echoed thoughtfully, stroking his chin with an exaggerated air of contemplation. "An apt analogy, Mr. Braun. Though one might argue that your psalms are sung with a curious inflection—one that leans suspiciously toward flattery."
Hange snorted loudly at this, earning a reproachful glance from Petra, whose efforts to maintain decorum were increasingly in vain. Undeterred, Hange whispered again, "Perhaps he'll recite 'Blessed are the estate-owners, for theirs is the kingdom of terrestrial splendor.'"
Petra, red-faced and shaking with suppressed mirth, bent even lower over her skirt, while Sasha, who had just regained her composure, dissolved into fresh giggles.
Mr. Braun, oblivious to the growing undercurrent of hilarity in the room, continued with renewed vigor, as if determined to reclaim his audience. "The Reiss family," he declared, his voice rising in fervor, "is a paragon of virtue and tradition. To serve them is to witness firsthand the manifestation of divine providence in the mortal realm. And truly, what higher honor could there be?"
"None higher, surely," Mr. Zoe said with a bow of his head, his expression the very picture of solemn agreement—though his eyes twinkled with the unmistakable glint of a man thoroughly enjoying himself.
As the evening progressed, Mr. Zoe suggested that Mr. Braun read to the assembled company. From the shelves, he plucked a novel, its cover worn but inviting. Mr. Braun recoiled as though it were a serpent.
"A novel, sir?" exclaimed Mr. Braun, recoiling as though Mr. Zoe had just placed a venomous snake in his lap. His voice rose with incredulity, tinged with the righteous indignation of a man convinced of his moral superiority. "I could not sully this company with such trifling indulgences. A novel, you say? Preposterous! Might I instead suggest a collection of sermons, or perhaps an essay on the virtues of discipline? Such readings would be far more fitting for an evening of refinement and grace."
His dramatic delivery cast a pall of tension over the room, though Hange's lips twitched with poorly concealed amusement. Petra quickly ducked her head to focus on her embroidery, while Sasha, perched in her usual casual manner, leaned forward with an irrepressible grin.
"Actually, Mr. Braun," Sasha began brightly, her voice as disarmingly cheerful as a spring morning, "have you heard the latest news about Colonel Zeke Yeager? They say he's been posted near the northern wall. Apparently, he's implemented some brilliant new strategies for defending the region. Quite the commander, isn't he?"
Mr. Braun froze, his face a study in barely suppressed outrage. His expression shifted rapidly between disbelief and disapproval, as though Sasha's comment had been a personal affront to his very existence. His thin lips pressed together in a line so tight it seemed a miracle he could still breathe.
"My dear Miss Sasha," he said at last, his tone clipped and his forced smile more of a grimace, "while tales of military exploits may be entertaining for some, I fail to see how they contribute to the moral or intellectual betterment of this gathering."
Sasha, entirely unbothered, tilted her head as though genuinely curious. "Oh, but Mr. Braun, surely there's value in discussing courage and strategy? Aren't those virtues worth admiring? Or would you say sermons are the only proper avenue for moral improvement?"
The room fell silent, save for the faint crackle of the fire. Mr. Zoe, seated with his customary air of quiet detachment, glanced up from his tea, his eyes flickering with the faintest hint of amusement. Petra, on the other hand, appeared torn between horror at Sasha's brazenness and the struggle to suppress a giggle.
Hange, as ever, could not resist fanning the flames. "Well said, Sasha," she murmured, her voice laced with mischief. "After all, one could argue that stories of valor inspire the soul just as much as a well-written sermon. Perhaps even more so, if the sermon lacks imagination."
Mr. Braun's eyes snapped to Hange, his expression shifting from affront to wary disapproval, as though he were trying to determine whether her remark was an innocent observation or a calculated insult. He cleared his throat and adjusted the collar of his clerical garb, his composure slipping ever so slightly.
"Imagination," he said stiffly, "is a dangerous tool when wielded without caution. It has the power to mislead, to distract from the righteous path. Stories of war, though compelling, often glorify violence rather than teaching the virtues of peace and reflection."
Hange raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Ah, but isn't the ability to imagine a better world essential for cultivating virtue? Surely even the righteous need a touch of creativity to envision what they're striving for."
Mr. Braun appeared momentarily speechless, his jaw working silently as though grappling with the audacity of her argument. Sasha, meanwhile, had resumed nibbling on a biscuit, entirely unfazed by the growing tension.
Sensing that Mr. Braun was nearing the end of his patience, Mr. Zoe intervened with the practiced ease of a man who knew precisely when to diffuse a situation. "You raise an interesting point, Mr. Braun," he said smoothly. "Though I daresay the balance between imagination and discipline is a delicate one, and not easily resolved in a single evening."
"Indeed, Mr. Zoe," Mr. Braun replied, seizing the lifeline with a strained smile. "It is a matter best left to those with wisdom and discretion."
The conversation shifted after that, though the earlier exchange lingered in the air like a faint echo. Mr. Braun remained notably subdued for the rest of the evening, his gaze drifting toward the fire as though seeking solace in its steady glow.
Later, as the night wound down, Mr. Zoe suggested a game of backgammon to pass the remaining time. Mr. Braun, eager to regain some semblance of composure, agreed with an enthusiastic nod. "Ah, yes," he said, his tone brightening considerably. "A game of strategy and skill! Truly, an excellent way to exercise the mind."
Hange, now seated near the hearth with a cup of tea, watched him with undisguised curiosity. Leaning slightly toward Petra, she murmured, "A man who turns his nose up at novels but sees no contradiction in spending hours on board games. Quite the sermon on priorities, don't you think?"
Petra cast her sister a reproachful glance, though the corners of her lips twitched with restrained amusement. "Careful, Hange," she said quietly. "Mr. Braun's opinions, however misguided, are still worthy of respect."
"Respect?" Hange repeated, her grin widening. "Oh, I have the utmost respect for his consistency. After all, it takes a certain kind of discipline to sermonize against imagination while throwing oneself wholeheartedly into a game of chance."
Petra shook her head, though she couldn't entirely hide her smile. "One day, Hange, your wit will land you in trouble."
"Perhaps," Hange replied lightly, raising her teacup in a mock toast. "But until then, I intend to enjoy myself thoroughly."
As Mr. Braun and Mr. Zoe bent over the backgammon board, their conversation punctuated by the occasional roll of dice, Hange's gaze lingered on the clergyman. There was something both amusing and faintly tragic about his rigid adherence to propriety, his determination to fit every aspect of life into neat, moral compartments. For all his disdain of novels, she thought, Mr. Braun himself was not unlike a character in one—a man whose flaws and hypocrisies made him both maddening and endlessly fascinating.