Thursday, 1 August 1878

I disguised myself as an eccentric old German woman with strange habits and little quirks. And as the appearance of every new face excites the Kurhaus residents, I cause a sensation. Only I make the imprudence of asking the waiter for nothing — suspicions are aroused, I am followed, pursued, and it is over.
But I assure you it is a melancholy thing to make twenty-five people die laughing without amusing oneself. I return pursued by this pack — servants and hotelkeepers following the guests — at the foot of the stairs I remove my spectacles to show it is indeed I; Dourassoff still had his doubts.
Rosalie extends her warmest protection to the princes — and why? The dark prince had apparently confided in the head waiter who serves him; and the head waiter was quite furious because the prince, having passed me the menu, I had turned away without noticing — which made the prince sad, for he had quite resolved to speak to me today; and the prince's sadness made the head waiter sulky — to whom the prince had confided his preference, charging him to give warning each time I come to the table d'hôte.
And when I objected that speaking to me was easy enough when one has been dining beside me for three weeks, Rosalie replies that I have intimidated many others by my vivacity and my habit of mocking everyone.
Well — this filth from the servants' hall gave me a kind of pleasure. If it were true after all... if it were true it would move me greatly, and I should not have the courage to laugh at this sick and poetic being. I should wish him no harm, and I should be wildly amused.
This very evening I looked at him with completely different eyes. And at dinner I told Madame Rembelinsky that the two men we had taken for princes were nothing but traveling salesmen from Berlin — and Madame Rembelinsky spread it about, playing on the pronunciation of the younger one's name, saying Ganz (goose) instead of Hans.

Notes

German: Gans = goose, ganz = whole/quite. The wordplay mocks Hans by calling him a "goose."