"Hans!" she exclaimed delightedly, and then went on in fluent German with a strong American accent.
He looked round to be sure that they were alone, and then he clasped her in his arms. He held her so tightly that she panted for breath; he kissed her until her lips were bruised, and he murmured guttural words of endearment that sounded like an animal's growl.
The woman answered him in like manner. It was as though two brute beasts had met.
Then presently they sat upon a seat and talked in low tones. The woman protested and declaimed; the man grumbled and demanded. An envelope passed between them, and more crude caresses, and before they parted the man again held her in close embrace—biting the lobe of her ear until she gave a little scream.
"Yes—if there was time—" she gasped huskily. "I should adore you like this—but here—in the gardens—Oh! do mind my hat!"
Then he let her go—they had arranged a future meeting. And left alone, he sat down upon the bench again and laughed aloud.
The woman almost ran to the road at the bottom and jumped into a waiting taxi, and once inside she brought out a gold case with mirror and powder puff, and red greases for her lips.
"My goodness! I can't say that's a mosquito!" and she examined her ear. "How tiresome and imprudent of Hans! But Jingo, it was good!—if there only had been time—"
Then she, too, laughed as she powdered her face, and when she alighted at the door of the Hotel du Rhin, no marks remained of conflict except the telltale ear.
But on encountering her maid, she was carrying her minute Pekinese dog in her arms and was beating him well.