I wonder what we should do without him?"
"He is a good boy, isn't he?"
"Yes," I replied. "That just describes him—good boy."
"I don't know what I should have done if it hadn't been for him all the time I was alone."
"Don't let us think about that any more," said I. "It is so far back."
"Yes." She kissed me. "And now go and ski."
Antonio was already expecting me.
"I thought you would probably not have a dinner suit," said he. "Just try on the coat."
The coat was a bit tight but it would do.
Antonio whistled cheerfully and hung out the suit.
"It will be good fun to-morrow," he declared. "Luckily the little secretary is on night duty in the office.
Old Rex-roth wouldn't let us out.
Officially all that sort of thing is forbidden.
But unofficially we aren't children, of course."
We went skiing.
I had learnt quite well, and we did not use the nursery slope any more.
On the way we encountered a chap with diamond rings, checked breeches, and a flowing artist's tie.
"Funny-looking things there are up here," said I.
Antonio laughed.
"He's a very important chap.
A corpse companion."
"A what?" I asked in astonishment.
"A corpse companion," replied Antonio. "You see, there are patients here from all over the world.
Especially from South America.
Naturally most families want to have their relations buried at home.
So a corpse companion, like that chap, goes with it and sees the coffin home.
Incidentally they make quite a tidy sum and get around a lot.
Death has made that one into a dandy, as you see."
We climbed up a while longer, then put on our skis and ran down.
The white slopes undulated up and down, and after us, barking, every now and then sinking to the chest in the snow, raced Billy like a red brown ball.
He had got used to me again, though he would still often turn in his tracks and race back hell-for-leather with flying ears to the sanatorium.
I was practising Christianias, and each time as I glided down the slope and prepared for the swing and relaxed my body, I would think: If I do it this time without falling, Pat will get better.
The wind whistled past my face, the snow was heavy and sticky, but I persisted. I sought out ever steeper descents, ever more difficult ground; and when it succeeded again and again, I thought saved!—and knew it was foolish, and yet was happier than I had been for a long time.
On Saturday evening there was a big, secret exodus.
Antonio had ordered sleighs to be ready a short distance below and somewhat aside from the sanatorium.
Himself he tobogganed off, yodelling happily, down the slope in his dancing pumps and open coat, from under which gleamed the white waistcoat of his dress suit.
"He's crazy," said I.
"He often does that," replied Pat. "He's quite irresponsible.
It helps him through. He wouldn't always be so good-humoured otherwise."
"To make up we're going to pack you in all the more."
I wrapped her in every rug and shawl that we had.
Then the sleighs tramped off down the hill.
It was a long procession.
Everybody who could, had escaped.
One might have thought we were a wedding party going down into the valley, so festively nodded the plumes on the horses' heads in the moonlight, and there was such laughter and shouting from sleigh to sleigh.
The Kursaal was lavishly decorated.
The dancing had already begun when we arrived.
A corner sheltered from draughts from the windows was reserved for the guests from the sanatorium.
It was warm and smelt of flowers, perfume and wine.
A crowd of people sat at our table—the Russian, Rita, the violinist, an old woman, a bejewelled death's head, a gigolo who belonged to it, Antonio and some more.