so long a wanderer upon the face of public resorts. And one is too
polished up. Heaven knows I was never an untidy man. But the
feeling that I had when, whilst poor Florence was taking her
morning bath, I stood upon the carefully swept steps of the
Englischer Hof, looking at the carefully arranged trees in tubs
upon the carefully arranged gravel whilst carefully arranged
people walked past in carefully calculated gaiety, at the carefully
calculated hour, the tall trees of the public gardens, going up to
the right; the reddish stone of the baths--or were they white
half-timber châlets? Upon my word I have forgotten, I who was
there so often. That will give you the measure of how much I was
in the landscape. I could find my way blindfolded to the hot
rooms, to the douche rooms, to the fountain in the centre of the
quadrangle where the rusty water gushes out. Yes, I could find my
way blindfolded. I know the exact distances. From the Hotel
Regina you took one hundred and eighty-seven paces, then,
turning sharp, left-handed, four hundred and twenty took you
straight down to the fountain. From the Englischer Hof, starting
on the sidewalk, it was ninety-seven paces and the same four
hundred and twenty, but turning lefthanded this time.

And now you understand that, having nothing in the world to
do--but nothing whatever! I fell into the habit of counting my
footsteps. I would walk with Florence to the baths. And, of course,
she entertained me with her conversation. It was, as I have said,
wonderful what she could make conversation out of. She walked
very lightly, and her hair was very nicely done, and she dressed
beautifully and very expensively. Of course she had money of her
own, but I shouldn't have minded. And yet you know I can't
remember a single one of her dresses. Or I can remember just one,