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.