Ships That Pass In The Night | Page 5

stairs when he heard Marie's blithe voice humming her favourite spinning-song.
"Ei, Ei!" he said to himself; "Marie is in a good temper to-day. I will give her a call as I pass."
He arranged his neckerchief and smoothed his curls; and when he reached the end of the landing, he paused outside a little glass-door, and, all unobserved, watched Marie in her pantry cleaning the candlesticks and lamps.
Marie heard a knock, and, looking up from her work, saw W?rli.
"Good day, W?rli," she said, glancing hurriedly at a tiny broken mirror suspended on the wall. "I suppose you have a letter for me. How delightful!"
"Never mind about the letter just now," he said, waving his hand as though wishing to dismiss the subject. "How nice to hear you singing so sweetly, Marie! Dear me, in the old days at Grüsch, how often I have heard that song of the spinning-wheels. You have forgotten the old days, Marie, though you remember the song."
"Give me my letter, W?rli, and go about your work," said Marie, pretending to be impatient. But all the same her eyes looked extremely friendly. There was something very winning about the hunchback's face.
"Ah, ah! Marie," he said, shaking his curly head; "I know how it is with you: you only like people in fine binding. They have not always fine hearts."
"What nonsense you talk W?rli!" said Marie "There, just hand me the oil-can. You can fill this lamp for me. Not too full, you goose! And this one also, ah, you're letting the oil trickle down! Why, you're not fit for anything except carrying letters! Here, give me my letter."
"What pretty flowers," said W?rli. "Now if there is one thing I do like, it is a flower. Can you spare me one, Marie? Put one in my button-hole, do!"
"You are a nuisance this afternoon," said Marie, smiling and pinning a flower on W?rli's blue coat. Just then a bell rang violently.
"Those Portuguese ladies will drive me quite mad," said Marie. "They always ring just when I am enjoying myself?"
"When you, an enjoying yourself!" said W?rli triumphantly.
"Of course," returned Marie; "I always do enjoy cleaning the oil-lamps; I always did!"
"Ah, I'd forgotten the oil-lamps!" said W?rli.
"And so had I!" laughed Marie. "Na, na, there goes that bell again! Won't they be angry! Won't they scold at me! Here, W?rli, give me my letter, and I'll be off."
"I never told you I had any letter for you," remarked W?rli. "It was entirely your own idea. Good afternoon, Fr?ulein Marie."
The Portuguese ladies' bell rang again, still more passionately this time; but Marie did not seem to hear nor care. She wished to be revenged on that impudent postman. She went to the top of the stairs and called after W?rli in her most coaxing tones:
"Do step down one moment; I want to show you something!"
"I must deliver the registered letters," said W?rli, with official haughtiness. "I have already wasted too much of my time."
"Won't you waste a few more minutes on me?" pleaded Marie pathetically. "It is not often I see you now."
W?rli came down again, looking very happy.
"I want to show you such a beautiful photograph I've had taken," said Marie. "Ach, it is beautiful!"
"You must give one to me," said W?rli eagerly.
"Oh, I can't do that," replied Marie, as she opened the drawer and took out a small packet. "It was a present to me from the Polish gentleman himself. He saw me the other day here in the pantry. I was so tired, and I had fallen asleep with my broom, just as you see me here. So he made a photograph of me. He admires me very much. Isn't it nice? and isn't the Polish gentleman clever? and isn't it nice to have so much attention paid to one? Oh, there's that horrid bell again! Good afternoon, Herr W?rli. That is all I have to say to you, thank you."
W?rli's feelings towards the Polish gentleman were not of the friendliest that day.



CHAPTER V.
THE DISAGREEABLE MAN.
ROBERT ALLITSEN told Bernardine that she was not likely to be on friendly terms with the English people in the Kurhaus.
"They will not care about you, and you will not care about the foreigners. So you will thus be thrown on your own resources, just as I was when I came."
"I cannot say that I have any resources," Bernardine answered. "I don't feel well enough to try to do any writing, or else it would be delightful to have the uninterrupted leisure."
So she had probably told him a little about her life and occupation; although it was not likely that she would have given him any serious confidences. Still, people are often surprisingly frank about themselves, even those who pride themselves upon being the most reticent mortals in the world.
"But now, having the leisure," she