And then perhaps he
would lose her altogether. It would not be safe now for him to delay a
single day longer. So the little postman armed himself with courage.
Waerli's brain was muddled that day. He who prided himself upon knowing
the names of all the guests in Petershof, made the most absurd mistakes
about people and letters too; and received in acknowledgment of his
stupidity a series of scoldings which would have unnerved a stronger
person than the little hunchback postman.
In fact, he ceased to care how he gave out the letters: all the
envelopes seemed to have the same name on them: _Marie Truog_. Every
word which he tried to decipher turned to that; so finally he tried no
more, leaving the destination of the letter to be decided by the
impulse of the moment. At last he arrived at that quarter of the
Kurhaus where Marie held sway. He heard her singing in her pantry.
Suddenly she was summoned downstairs by an impatient bellringer,
and on her return found Waerli waiting in the passage.
"What a goose you are!" she cried, throwing a letter at him; "you have
left the wrong letter at No. 82."
Then some one else rang, and Marie hurried off again.
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