There was a few minutes’ silence before he continued:
“I’m thinking of something else, too. I’m sitting thinking that this is the last Christmas we shall celebrate together. I’m a doctor and I know I’ve not many days left. I know it now with full certainty. I want, therefore, to thank you for all the kindness you’ve shown me and my wife in these last times.”
“Oh, you’re mistaken,” muttered Richardt, looking away.
“No,” replied Henck, “I’m not mistaken. And I want also to thank you for lending me your fur coat. It has given me the last seconds of happiness I have known in my life.”
THE BLUE ANCHOR
I
THERE was dancing in the salon, but in the darkened smoking-room sat several men who did not dance. The younger ones had white flowers in their button-holes, the older ones had decorations. In the corner of a sofa sat a man a little apart from the others; he sat very silent and smiled as at a happy dream. His face was brown, but his forehead was white. His frock coat was as correct as anyone else’s, and he had also a white flower in his button-hole; but his left hand, which hung over the arm of the sofa, was tattooed with a blue anchor.
As a matter of fact it was not a ball; there had merely been a dinner, and afterwards there was dancing.
A man with a decoration was standing in front of him.
“You don’t dance, Mr. Fant?” he inquired.