On her way to her room she stopped to talk to pretty Fräulein Müller, who was in high spirits, having had an excellent report from the Doctor. Fräulein Müller always insisted on talking English with Bernardine; and as her knowledge of it was limited, a certain amount of imagination was necessary to enable her to be understood.
"Ah, Miss Holme," she said, "I have deceived an exquisite report from the Doctor."
"You are looking ever so well," Bernardine said. "And the love-making with the Spanish gentleman goes on well, too?"
"Ach!" was the merry answer. "That is your inventory! I am quite indolent to him!"
At that moment the Spanish gentleman came out of the Kurhaus flower- shop, with a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
"Mademoiselle," he said, handing them to Fräulein Müller, and at the same time putting his hand to his heart. He had not noticed Bernardine at first, and when he saw her, he became somewhat confused. She smiled at them both, and escaped into the flower-shop, which was situated in one of the covered passages connecting the mother-building with the dependencies. Herr Schmidt, the gardener, was making a wreath. His favourite companion, a saffron cat, was playing with the wire. Schmidt was rather an ill-tempered man, but he liked Bernardine.
"I have put these violets aside for you, Fräulein," he said, in his sulky way. "I meant to have sent them to your room, but have been interrupted in my work."
"You spoil me with your gifts," she said.
"You spoil my cat with the milk," he replied, looking up from his work.
"That is a beautiful wreath you are making, Herr Schmidt," she said.
"Who has died? Any one in the Kurhaus?"