“Must I tell the truth,” she said, in a most melancholy tone of voice; “the truth and nothing else?  Well, Waerli, if you must know . . . how I grieve to hurt you . . .”  Waerli’s heart sank, the tears came into his eyes.  “But since it must be the truth, and nothing else,” continued the torturer, “well Fritz . . .  I love you!”

A few minutes afterwards, the Disagreeable Man, having failed to attract any notice by ringing, descended to Marie’s pantry, to fetch his lamp.  He discovered Waerli embracing his betrothed.

“I am sorry to intrude,” he said grimly, and he retreated at once.  But directly afterwards he came back.

“The matron has just come upstairs,” he said.  And he hurried away.

CHAPTER XIX.

“SHIPS THAT SPEAK EACH OTHER IN PASSING.”

MANY of the guests in the foreign quarter had made a start downwards into the plains; and the Kurhaus itself, though still well filled with visitors, was every week losing some of its invalids.  A few of the tables looked desolate, and some were not occupied at all, the lingerers having chosen, now that their party was broken up, to seek the refuge of another table.  So that many stragglers found their way to the English dining-board, each bringing with him his own national bad manners, and causing much annoyance to the Disagreeable Man, who was a true John Bull in his contempt of all foreigners.  The English table was, so he said, like England herself:  the haven of other nation’s offscourings.

There were several other signs, too, that the season was far advanced.  The food had fallen of in quality and quantity.  The invalids, some of them better and some of them worse, had become impatient.  And plans were being discussed, where formerly temperatures and coughs and general symptoms were the usual subjects of conversation!  The caretakers, too, were in a state of agitation; some few keenly anxious to be of to new pastures; and others, who had perhaps formed attachments, an occurrence not unusual in Petershof, were wishing to hold back time with both hands, and were therefore delighted that the weather, which had not yet broken up, gave no legitimate excuse for immediate departure.

Pretty Fraeulein Mueller had gone, leaving her Spanish gentleman quite disconsolate for the time being.  The French Marchioness had returned to the Parisian circles where she was celebrated for all the domestic virtues, from which she had been taking such a prolonged holiday in Petershof.  The little French danseuse and her poodle had left for Monte Carlo.  M. Lichinsky and his mother passed on to the Tyrol, where Madame would no doubt have plenty of opportunities for quarrelling:  or not finding them, would certainly make them without any delay, by this means keeping herself in good spirits and her son in bad health.  There were some, too, who had hurried off without paying their doctors:  being of course those who had received the greatest attention, and who had expressed the greatest gratitude in their time of trouble, but who were of opinion that thankfulness could very well take the place of francs:  an opinion not entirely shared by the doctors themselves.