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Updated: June 7, 2025
He began shaking it in Gard's eyes, insisting once more on wagering it that his American friend could not pick the card. With the demi-tasses and cigars he ordered the deck and table. He started the game, having locked out the blockhead of a waiter and dropped the key into his own pocket. Gard would not play. His ire was rising. The small German declared himself mistreated.
And Elsa looked truly golden as she sat there over the Hoffmann, with the sunlight streaming about her head. In Gard's phantasmagoria at night there had often been a blond maiden, dancing and lovely but mingled at length into some unpleasant circumstance like that connected with the phantom princess he had ridden with in Italy.
The sudden recollection of this fact made him cast such a glance of scrutiny at the gentleman as to quite discompose him. "What's the old man up to, gimleting me in the eye like that? He's got something up his sleeve," thought Mahr. "I wonder did she ever corner him?" was the question uppermost in Gard's mind.
A wild scream that shrilled along the night and woke Plaisance and Clos Bourel and Vauroque, and the great white devil reared to his fullest with wildly beating forefeet, toppled over backwards, and disappeared with one hideous thud and a final crash on the shingle of Coupée Bay. It was worse than they had ever dreamed as bad almost as some of Gard's own nightmares. "Good God! Good God!
From Frau came a flask of cognac for use in case he were dizzy on the trains. Fräulein bestowed on him one of her tiny etchings showing the Elbe with the Schiller Garden where all had spent so many evenings. Gard's route, his through ticket to the sea, his traveling clothing, were subjects of daily conversation at the table.
Brencherly exclaimed, and stood aghast and silent. "No!" thundered Gard, and then leaned forward brokenly with his head in his hand. Slowly the detective's mind readjusted itself, and the look in his eyes fixed upon Gard's bowed figure was all pitying understanding. Then he shook his head. "No, she didn't do it," he said "never! I don't believe it!"
Though there were pleasant delusions in Anderson's mind about Germany before he arrived, it was not his fault if few seemed to be left after his seven years. He bluntly defined the limited German wit and humor as characteristically born of the latrine. Gard's two young friends did not refrain from talk in the key of indecency.
A gigantesque character, surrounded by his romantic paladins Roland, Oliver, Ganelon and the rest his face turned alike toward west, east and south to France and Germany and Italy he nevertheless has long been sinking into the ever-darker shadows of a dulled obscurity.... Gard's friend and the other two Germans presently returned and interrupted his ruminations.
To Gard it all now appeared seemly enough, like an opera peasant ballet whose frank rusticities were excused under the inspiration of the music. Fritzi's hair floated loosely over her shoulders. It looked to him even brighter than Elsa's. Her snug, many-colored bodice became partly unlaced and she had kicked off her tight slippers under Gard's table.
The latter announced his satisfaction at the prospect of "seeing the Germans jump around." Gard's dancing was cut off, which was disappointing enough, yet he could at least see the spectacle. The following morning, the day before the event, another wire, and another cramped, stiff note through the diplomatic channels of the kitchen reached the attic.
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