The Germans peeped
in at the door, called a word to the waiter, and went away again. It
was not meal-time, so they did not come into this dining-room, but
betook themselves, when their boots were changed, to the Reunionsaal.
The English visitors could hear the occasional twanging of a zither,
the strumming of a piano, snatches of laughter and shouting and
singing, a faint vibration of voices. The whole building being of wood,
it seemed to carry every sound, like a drum, but instead of increasing
each particular noise, it decreased it, so that the sound of the zither
seemed tiny, as if a diminutive zither were playing somewhere, and it
seemed the piano must be a small one, like a little spinet.
The host came when the coffee was finished. He was a Tyrolese, broad,
rather flat-cheeked, with a pale, pock-marked skin and flourishing
moustaches.
'Would you like to go to the Reunionsaal to be introduced to the other
ladies and gentlemen?' he asked, bending forward and smiling, showing
his large, strong teeth.
Pages:
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834