Mr Bunker’s bedroom opened out of their common sitting-room, and so he declared that in the afternoon the Baron must be laid up there.
“Keep your room all morning,” he said, “and look as pale as you can. I shall make my room ready for you.”
When the Baron had retired, he threw himself into a chair and gazed for a few minutes round his bedroom. Then he rang his bell, ordered the servant to make the bed immediately, and presently went out to do some shopping. On the way he sent word to the Countess, telling her only that the Baron was indisposed, but that in spite of this misfortune he hoped he should have the pleasure of their company at tea. The rest of the morning he spent in his bedroom, prudently keeping out of the ladies’ way.
When, after a substantial lunch which he insisted upon getting up to eat, the Baron was allowed to enter the sick-room, he uttered an exclamation of astonishment,—and indeed his surprise was natural. The room was as full of flowers as a conservatory; chairs, wardrobe, [pg 154] and fireplace were most artistically draped with art hangings; a plate filled with grapes, a large bottle labelled “Two table-spoonfuls every half hour,” and a medicine-glass were placed conspicuously on a small table; and, most remarkable feature of all, Mr Bunker’s bath filled with water and alive with goldfish stood by the side of the bed. A couple of canaries sang in a cage by the window, the half-drawn curtains only permitted the most delicate light to steal into the room, and in short the whole arrangement reflected the utmost credit on his ingenious friend.
The Baron was delighted, but a little puzzled.
“Vat for are zese fishes and ze canaries?” he asked.
“To show your love of nature.”
“Vy so?”
“There is nothing that pleases a woman more.”
“My friend, you zink of everyzing!” exclaimed the Baron, admiringly.