She smiled
at them both, and escaped into the flower-shop, which was situated in
one of the covered passages connecting the mother-building with the
dependencies. Herr Schmidt, the gardener, was making a wreath. His
favourite companion, a saffron cat, was playing with the wire. Schmidt
was rather an ill-tempered man, but he liked Bernardine.
"I have put these violets aside for you, Fraeulein," he said, in his
sulky way. "I meant to have sent them to your room, but have been
interrupted in my work."
"You spoil me with your gifts," she said.
"You spoil my cat with the milk," he replied, looking up from his work.
"That is a beautiful wreath you are making, Herr Schmidt," she said.
"Who has died? Any one in the Kurhaus?"
"No, Fraeulein. But I ought to keep my door locked when I make these
wreaths. People get frightened, and think they, too, are going to die.
Shall you be frightened, I wonder?"
"No, I believe not," she answered as she took possession of her violets,
and stroked the saffron cat. "But I am glad no one has died here."
"It is for a young, beautiful lady," he said. "She was in the Kurhaus
two years ago. I liked her. So I am taking extra pains.
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