“Why, Ditlinde, that's simple. The waters are good, they're excellent; especially the Ditlinde spring, with its lithium or whatever they call it, is admirable against gout and stone, and only waiting to be properly known and valued throughout the world. But a man like Spoelmann, you can imagine, a man like that is above names and trade-puffs, and follows his own kind. And so he has discovered our waters—or his physician has recommended them to him, it may be that, and bought it in the bottle, and it has done him good, and now he may think that it must do him still more good if he drinks it on the spot.”
They all kept silence.
“Great heavens, Albrecht,” said Ditlinde at last, “whatever one thinks of Spoelmann and his kind—and I'm not going to commit myself to an opinion, of that you may be sure—but don't you think that the man's visit to the Spa may be very useful?”
The Grand Duke turned his head with his stiff and refined smile.
“Ask Fräulein von Isenschnibbe,” he answered. “She has doubtless already considered the question from that point of view.”
“If your Royal Highness asks me … enormously useful! Immeasurably, incalculably useful—that's obvious! The directors are in the seventh heaven, they're getting ready to decorate and illuminate the Spa Hotel! What a recommendation, what an attraction for strangers! Will your Royal Highness just consider—the man is a curiosity! Your Grand Ducal Highness spoke just now of ‘his kind’—but there are none of ‘his kind’—at most, only a couple. He's a Leviathan, a Crœsus! People will come from miles away to see a being who has about half a million a day to spend!”
“Gracious!” said Ditlinde, taken aback. “And there's dear Philipp worrying about his peat beds.”
“The first scene,” the Fräulein went on, “begins with two Americans hanging about the Exchange for the last couple of days. Who are they? They are said to be journalists, reporters, for two big New York papers. They have preceded the Leviathan, and are telegraphing to their papers preliminary descriptions of the scenery. When he has got here they will telegraph every step he takes—just as the Courier and the Advertiser report about your Royal Highness….”
Albrecht bowed his thanks with eyes downcast and underlip protruded.
“He has appropriated the Prince's suite in the Spa Hotel,” said Jettchen, “as provisional lodgings.”