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The evening was quiet, and they elected to sit on the balcony outside Anita's sitting room, the girl swathed in white furs and leaning back in her steamer chair. Below lay the terrace of the Kurhaus, edged with evergreen trees. Beyond and far below that was the mountain village, a few scattered houses along a frozen stream.
The French Marchioness had already been requested to leave three other hotels in Petershof; but it was not at all probable that the proprietors of the Kurhaus would have presumed to measure Madame's morality or immorality.
She added, carelessly, "He wants us to go to the Kurhaus ball with him." "Oh, does he!" "Yes. He says he knows that she can get her father to let her go if we will chaperon them. And I promised that you would." "That I would?" "It will do just as well if you go. And it will be very amusing; you can see something of Carlsbad society." "But I'm not going!" he declared.
She stopped suddenly, surprised at her boldness. Mrs. Reffold was still leaning back in the arm-chair, her hands clasped together above her beautiful head. Her face was pale. She did not speak. Bernardine waited. The silence was unbroken save by the merry cries of some children tobogganing in the Kurhaus garden. The stillness grew oppressive, and Bernardine rose.
The basket chairs cost for the whole day twenty cents, Dutch money. One may obtain a subscription to the "Kurhaus" at a surprisingly reasonable rate for the day, week or season. There is a daily orchestra; ballet and operatic concerts once a week; dramatic performances and frequent hops throughout the season.
Long after midnight the lamp was burning in Sanin's room. Early in the morning he took this letter to the post, and went for a walk in the garden of the Kurhaus, where music was already being played.
She looked round and saw one of the English ladies belonging to the Kurhaus; Bernardine had noticed her the previous night. She seemed in capital spirits, and had three or four admirers waiting on her very words. She was a tall, handsome woman, dressed in a superb fur-trimmed cloak, a woman of splendid bearing and address. Bernardine looked a contemptible little piece of humanity beside her.
"So am I," said the other, lighting his cigar too. "Those are precisely my own feelings," remarked Mrs. Reffold. But she had learnt her lesson. WÄRLI, the little hunchback postman, a cheery soul, came whistling up the Kurhaus stairs, carrying with him that precious parcel of registered letters, which gave him the position of being the most important person in Petershof.
They were standing outside the room set apart for the photograph-maniacs of the Kurhaus. "I cannot go into that horrid little hole," Bernardine said. "And besides, I have promised to play chess with the Swedish professor. And after that I am going to photograph Marie. I promised Wärli I would." The Disagreeable Man smiled grimly. "I hope he will be able to recognize her!" he said.
I would retort, "I am talking to you merely as a plain commonsense man, with a head on my shoulders." They would apologize for their mistake. But this is leading me away from that German Kurhaus. Recreation for the Higher clergy. My clergyman friend found life there dull.
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