Still there was much clatter of talk and
plates, and German seemed to be the prevailing tongue. Except for a
couple whom Ashe took to be a Genevese professor and his wife, there was
no lady in the room.
He lingered somewhat late at table, toying with his orange, and reading
a
Journal de Geneve, captured from a neighbor, which contained an
excellent "London letter." The room emptied. The two Swiss handmaidens
came in to clear away soiled linen and arrange the tables for the
morning's coffee. Only, at a farther table, a
couvert for one person,
set by itself, remained still untouched.
He happened to be alone in the room when the door again opened and a
lady entered. She did not see him behind his newspaper, and she walked
languidly to the farther table and sat down. As she did so she was
seized with a fit of coughing, and when it was over she leaned her head
on her hands, gasping.
Ashe had half risen--the newspaper was crushed in his hand--when the
Swiss waitress whom the men of the inn called Fraeulein Anna--who was,
indeed, the daughter of the landlord--came back.
"How are you, madame?" she said, with a smile, and in a slow English of
which she was evidently proud.
Pages:
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675