Chapter 9 chapter eight

Despite this ominous omen—because I took the dream as a bad omen—I took the group trip anyway.We drove two cars, except for the negligent Momsen couple. I parked my car in front of Witold's house in Rattenburg, and we drove to Schrinsheim to pick up Kitty.Because the Schroeders were not ready yet, we had to go back to Rattenburg in order to set off with them in a mighty way.Witold was a bit annoyed by the procrastination. When packing, I went over the list that Witold had originally asked us to take with us in our travel backpacks.Things like army canteens, traveling knives, loafers, and sweatpants were never in my dowry, but probably won't be needed now either.Anyway, I packed sweatshirts and silk pajamas in the trunk.I'm afraid to ask how the room will be assigned when I arrive.But I soon learned that a double room had been booked for the Schröders separately, Kitty and I had shared a double room (if that seemed appropriate to me), and a single room for Witold.Actually I'd like a single room too, but I don't think it's right to say it because I don't want to break Kitty's feelings.

We set off just before noon and arrived in Weissenburg before noon.We started looking for a foothold.Of course Witold had a hotel guide with him, but there were no rooms left in the accommodation he had checked.At this point Ernst Schroeder interjected that he knew of a secret location, not in France but in Germany.We settled down there very smoothly, and it took only a quarter of an hour to walk to Weissenburg, where we could indulge in a French meal in the evening. I unpack the suitcase.From the window you can directly see Wayne Mountain.It was drizzling outside, but even in this season, it was uncomfortably hot here.We decided to start with coffee and fresh apple pastry.Because everyone is in a good mood, they don't care about the rain at all, and they are going to put on suitable clothes to practice their legs and feet.

I brought an umbrella, as did Scarlat.Others put on raincoats.Witold picked nuts and chestnuts and generously gave some to Kitty and me, though they too often fell at our feet.Scarlatt did not accept his gift. "Men are always so naive," she said, "and since I didn't allow him to play the trailblazer, he must have wanted to draw a dwarf out of chestnuts and matches to-night as a consolation." "Exactly," Witold agreed. "You're the smartest guy." I took the slippery, round chestnut out of the pocket of my jacket and put it in my hand as a permanent memento.

Witold is the guide. As a French teacher, he has led the students here.He knew the topography here like the back of his hand, showed us the picturesque scenery along the Lauter River, explained the history of the city, including all the disasters that happened in the city, after visiting the churches of St. Pierre and St. Paul, we The roaming is over. Perhaps Witold's schedule would have continued for several hours if the Schroeders hadn't been clamoring for dinner at eight o'clock at the latest.Ernst Schroeder said that he wanted to invite everyone to dinner on the first night, and he and his wife wanted to express a little bit of the joy that this planned trip would bring.

None of us objected to his invitation, and he, as host, ordered the same meal for everyone: foie gras followed by pheasant with sauerkraut, and fresh hollow cakes.The waiter was always so slow to refill the Riesling.From the beginning, Witold asked the waiter to bring the menu in elegant French, but got an answer in Aleman's local language. Meals went on for hours.Whether it is our table or the next table, the conversation is getting louder and the laughter is getting more and more enthusiastic.At the table, two doctors who at first had been complaining about their dwindling health insurance cards that their wives were openly bored, now burst out laughing, causing us to eavesdrop occasionally What about their conversation.One of the doctors, who was a dentist, spoke comically of his youthful attempts to determine the age of a dead man from his teeth.He later determined that the deceased was wearing a set of false teeth.Still, he came up with a fairly precise age based on how worn the jaws were.

"How can one joke about such a dreadful subject?" said Kitty, blushing angrily.But Ernst and Scarlatt couldn't help laughing out loud at how hilariously told the story was, even though it wasn't all that interesting in itself. Witold and I looked at each other with extremely unhappy eyes.We don't feel comfortable talking about corpses as an after-dinner snack.Witold reminded everyone to go.He said we had some way to go, and it was raining and dark at night.Besides, I have to get up early tomorrow for a hike after all. Scarlat said sarcastically, "Climb the mountain early in the morning! You won't see me before ten o'clock!"

Ernst Schroeder then said that if you had breakfast before ten o'clock, it would be best to adjust the departure time to eleven o'clock.Witold sighed, "Hakim, you are beyond redemption," but he relented. The room Kitty and I stayed in had a shower and toilet.I let her use it first, because I have to take a shower at night, which is very time-consuming.Kitty came out in five minutes.She was wearing a pink children's pajamas, squatting on the bed, rubbing Nivea body lotion on her face vigorously.She also chattered excitedly that the wine and the delicious meal had boosted her spirits.I went in and showered, but decided I didn't want to waste my fine silk nightgown for Kitty.When I finally got into bed, Kitty was still reading and just yawning. "We've got a great team," she said, "and I'm excitedly looking forward to tomorrow's schedule."

On the agenda is a walking tour of the Flackstein castle ruins. "It's adaptive hiking," Witold said.The rain stopped and we traveled through the autumn woods and meadows with ease.Witold occasionally asked Ernst the names of mushrooms, but most of his friends simply replied "poisonous" or "not poisonous."Besides, we didn't form any fixed group, and Witold had to care about everyone like a shepherd dog so that we wouldn't get separated. Scarlatt asked me about my profession curiously.I happily told her.So far, no one has been interested in it.But she soon bored me with details of her children's immature career aspirations.To my slight interest, she began to complain about the promising Oleg.She said he resembled her father in precocity.His father was also a complete idiot when he was young.I can hardly imagine this.

On one occasion, she also mentioned Schilko Engelstein, with whom she was a very good friend. "What kind of person is Shirko?" I asked. "Besides being absolutely charming, there's also a little bit of resignation," Scarlatte said, "and Reiner has to keep an eye on her. But she's very smart, and maybe her personality is too sensitive, so you have to keep an eye on her." All right. A little negligence and you'll offend her, and you don't even know what's going on." I can finally understand now how Pamela Schroeder offends some people because she keeps talking straight.

"Reiner and I..." she resumed, choked up again, and then said, "I've lost my train of thought." I hate her. There was a guide at Flackstein Castle, an old man who spoke German and was well versed in ancient customs.He threw out a bunch of numbers, but we were bored by the length, height, and width.It must be much better than Witold's explanation. The first day went well.The pleasant weather in autumn also helped a little.Our walking tour lasted four hours, and I think it can last.We also took a nap in the afternoon, and then started a new round of strolling, followed by delicious meals.This time, the chicken stewed in wine and the ham cake with lard from Lorraine were served first, followed by iced juice drinks and a lot of wine.I ate more than usual in the evening, as my appetite had been whetted by the fresh air and unusual stay.Besides, since I fell in love with Witold, I have lost weight and started to force myself to eat more.

But I miscalculated.At night I felt sick, more than uncomfortable, very uncomfortable.I dare not make tea for myself in the hotel kitchen without authorization.In the end, I had to force myself to throw up those delicious dinners, and I felt better.But I still can't sleep.Besides, I'm not used to hearing a strange breathing sound beside me.I don't mean that Kitty didn't sleep well.She lay there like Andersen's steadfast little tin soldier, straight and fully stretched, and she was peaceful in her dreams, and there was no rustling of the duvet.I didn't fall asleep until four o'clock in the morning. However, it was only after seven o'clock when someone knocked on the door.I woke up at once, and Kitty soon after.It's Witold.I recognized him immediately from his soft voice. "I'm exercising in the morning now, does anyone want to go with me? We'll be back when we have breakfast at ten o'clock." No, I thought, not at seven in the morning!I was on vacation after all, and I didn't sleep well at night!I shook my head.Just for love, this is too much.But Kitty happily agreed. "You wait below for five minutes, I'll go brush my teeth, and I'll come down after I change my clothes!" She moved lightly, and then left. However, after such a toss, how can I fall asleep again?It was still dark outside.Looking out the window, I saw the two of them striding across the wet grass to the road. I yawned several times, turned on the bedside lamp, and read my economic newspaper.But for the first time in my life I found the paper to be downright boring.What are these lifeless numbers, and how can they be compared with living people? —these lifeless figures. What book does Kitty read?An English bestseller.This one really impressed me.Once again I felt like an old, uneducated, bourgeois, boring woman. I'm going to brush my teeth.Kitty's beauty products are minimal and she doesn't use any oils or brow pencils or anything like that.A box of ground almonds, a bar of honey soap and a stick of sea salt toothpaste.How old is she?I opened her bedside table: wallet and papers greeted me confidently.Oh, and thirty-five, too, I was taken aback.I look at her luggage.Kitty was carrying a very small traveling bag.Underwear, two white shirts, a replacement pair of jeans, a jumper, socks, that's all.I carry four times as much with me. By now I was wide awake, showered, and dressed.It was only half past eight.I come to the corridor.The room next to ours was Witold's, and the key was in the lock.At this time, there was not even a shadow of a person.I entered the door softly, intending to do some reconnaissance here.What kind of toothpaste did Witold use? But the first thing I saw was the full ashtray next to the bed.Bah, I thought, you're pretty good.Smoke hard at night and be a nature lover and hiker by day.On the bed lay a crumpled dark blue pajamas.He should have opened the window if he didn't say much, I thought.A fringed toothbrush, shaving cream, and a bottle of cheap after-shave lotion stood in front of the washbasin.I also opened his bedside table, but I felt a growing sense of dread.I had felt this way before, watching Witold in his dark yard.A feeling of longing, fear and power intertwined. Inside the wallet was a photo: something that looked like Shirko with her son, apparently taken years ago.Shirko smiled, her jet-black hair shining, and she looked very different from the time when her green shirt was slowly seeping black with blood.One of the sons, probably the older one, looked eerily similar to her.I've never met Witold's children, so I've seen enough, but I don't like them very much. A letter from Vivian, at least four weeks old.Her handwriting is illegible, and the words are blindly suggestive, full of jumping associations, and I have no idea where to start.Only the ending is clear: my love, your forever Vivian.I didn't even understand the first address until the end: "Dear hypocrite!" I can't write that kind of letter, I can't read English, I can't sing Brecht, I can't even have a baby. I stared again at the ashtray, the musty bed, and the sweaty socks thrown on the carpet.What a strange way of nature to make people oblivious to such disgusting details, and even obsessed with sharing the same bed with them. "Would you be interested in sleeping in his bed, Rosie?" I asked myself.I doubt it.Firstly I'm very sensitive to smells and hate being naked, and secondly I worry about not being able to live up to the expectations of a man.Do I really love Witold? I went back to my room, lay down on the bed with all my clothes on, and picked up a magazine.But instead of reading the magazine, he stared at the ceiling in a daze. The door opened.Kitty came in like a gust of wind, her face full of vigor, and her eyes sparkling with excitement. "It's so beautiful," she said earnestly, "you'll have to go with me tomorrow!" And she thrust a bent lavender aster and a late pink rose into my hand. "The last rose of summer," she said, and took off her clothes one by one and put them on the bed. "I haven't been in the shower yet," she said, completely naked.She stood in front of me trustingly: "The morning is the most beautiful, the mist rises from the grass, the colchicum blooms, and the milk is sent to the designated place in the countryside. And the farmer's yard is beautiful, and the dahlias are huge..." She His two hands are gesticulating to me. I had to look at her against my will because I'm so shy about nudity.Kitty, this unremarkable woman, probably everyone has to admit, is stunningly beautiful without clothes.She is powerful but also slender and exudes an innate joie de vivre.She hummed a tune and went to the shower.Why is she so happy? I made up my mind not to cry.At thirty-five, Kitty had been single after all.Should I be jealous of her and hate her?This is not a waste of my energy.What can you do to a fellow sufferer?There's another kind of woman I should hate: mothers. As everyone was eating breakfast, Witold announced to us that today was Kitty's birthday.The reason for her elation is not Witold's confession of love.I was annoyed that I only noticed her birth year when looking at her documents.Witold added ivy and red rose hips to Kitty's cup of coffee.Witold said she could confirm today's schedule. "Great!" said Kitty, who was not demanding much, beaming. "Then I hope we can go a little further, find a new hotel, and see other sights in Alsace." "Human landscape or natural landscape?" Ernst asked. "Natural sights!" replied Kitty, "some villages with gardens, especially to eat." "That's the way it is so far," said Scarlatt. "We're not starving!" So we set off again, Kitty sitting next to Witold, like a driving instructor, saying "right", "left" or "stop" and so on.She took the narrowest way, was excited about the farmhouses, found a stork, and two hours later told us to look for an inn in a small village.She wants to stay here, she doesn't want to go anywhere else.The hostel on Main Street had only one room available, but let's find a converted hostel from a landowner's house.The hostel was hard to find, but it was great. "If we can find lodging here," said Kitty innocently, "then I shall have good luck for a whole year!" There are also two double rooms, but an extra bed must be placed in one of them. "It's settled!" cried Kitty. "Yeah," said Ernst Schroeder, "that's a boys' room and a girls' room now." The house is old, with thick walls and wide outdoor stairs.The green shutters were weathered or completely peeled off; our room was on the second floor of a three-story house.To eat we had to go through the stoned courtyard, because they had set up a small dining room in what used to be the servants' room. We three "girls" live in a big room.I sat on the wide ledge and looked around the dining room.Five cats gathered at the door.Once someone opens the gate from the outside, they swarm in.A few minutes later, the door was opened from the inside, and a cook stepped up to the threshold and threw the cats, one by one, down the stairs.However, the five cats regrouped and slipped past other greengrocers or butchers. After marveling at the beautiful autumn colors, we started today's hiking tour.The vineyard yard is filled with sunflowers.I saw those dogs and cows, children and grape owners coming and going in a hurry.Kitty looked very happy. The chef came after us and asked if we would like to eat a hundred mouthfuls of hair tonight. "Yes!" said Kitty. I asked cautiously what it was, because my stomach was still so sensitive after that night.The chef says it's pork tail, lamb shoulder and brisket, which he puts on the stove for hours on end in a clay pot with a lid, along with potatoes, plenty of garlic, onions, spices and lots of white grapes cook.Hearing him say this, my traveling companions were already very excited.They just want pork tails, and I'd love some oatmeal. Even today's walking tour was not pleasant to me.I have cramps in my stomach.At breakfast, I only ate and drank some tea. In fact, I should stay on the comfortable farm bed in the hotel, open the window wide, doze off for a while, and listen to the strange sounds of people and animals outside.But don't people think I'm an old maid?Sick, eccentric, a disappointment.I gritted my teeth and walked... Finally, I felt like a Napoleon soldier marching through the endless wasteland and swamps of Russia, with death in front of my eyes. Nobody noticed anything unusual about me.But after three hours of me just answering "yes" or "no", Witold, who is always willing to take care of others, finally realized that there was something wrong with the soldier Tiha's body.I admit that yesterday's meal spoiled my stomach.Witold took a small bottle of white wine from the pocket of his hooded jacket. "Take a sip, it's very useful!" Because he just handed the strong-smelling bottle to my nose, so I obeyed.This herbal soju is tough, but it works. "How?" He asked curiously, waiting for the good news of the effect.I nodded feebly. "Attention," he said, "we're going to the main road now, and I'll hail a car on the road, and you go back to the hotel!" Things went unexpectedly well.A truck full of paint and painting tools pulled up immediately.Witold then showed the man his fluent French, explaining that the woman was unwell. "Then I'll go too," Scarlatte said suddenly, "if I go on like this for three hours, I won't be able to bear it either!" She pretended to be caring for a seriously ill patient in front of the driver, climbed in from the back of the truck and sat on a painted ladder.When I finally took my seat next to the driver with infinite ease, she waved proudly to the others. Scarlatt chatted with the driver in broken French and gesturing vigorously, while the driver exchanged glances with her in the rearview mirror.I have never been able to converse in this language, although I can detect many mistakes in her speech.When we got to our destination, we thanked the driver, and Scarlatt advised me, "Go to bed, I'll get a coffee." Then I disappeared into the restaurant. I think that's fine.I shivered out of my hiking tracksuit and pulled on a slate-gray jogger, huddled tightly by the duvet.Ten minutes later, someone knocked on the door.A little girl, about ten years old, came to my bed with a face of something urgent, took out a hot water bottle from a small basket and handed it to me, explaining that it was my mother who asked her to give it to me of.She nodded earnestly and left.Of course this could have been entirely arranged by that Scarlatt.I didn't expect this brazen slut to do that. After a while she returned herself, with tea and rusks on a tray. "You'll have to eat, or you'll be overwhelmed by the party tonight," she said, motherly and stern.She looked at me cautiously. "Unlike Kitty, you don't seem to have much enthusiasm for hiking. Maybe you're only doing it because of his blue eyes!" I drank my tea, nibbled on some rusks, and soon fell asleep. Around seven o'clock I was awakened by a murmur that, in my subconscious mind, was harsher than normal volume.Scarlatt had nail polish on her nails. Kitty asked: "Did we wake you up? How are you doing now?" In fact, I feel better and I really am a strong woman.I sat up and asked when the party would start. "We need a facelift first, my friend!" said Scarlatte, imitating the tone of a former gymnastics teacher.Her red hair was clean and curly.Kitty rummaged in her little handbag and took out a white cotton shirt.Scarlatt hissed. "Don't you have another shirt? You're thirty-five now, and you must present yourself as an adult without exception!" Kitty was not offended. "Whether here or at home, I don't have a celebrity outfit!" Scarlatt went through her luggage again and pulled out a heavy brown velvet shirt. "Try it, it's a color that goes well with my red hair, but probably better with your blond hair. Expensive clothes!" Kitty looked very charming in this expensive dress. Scarlatt was mesmerized by what she was wearing. "I'll give it to you as a birthday present," she said generously. I was impressed by this lavish gesture, foreign to my nature.But because of Scarlatte's comments about Witold's blue eyes, I'm angry with her. Kitty accepted the expensive shirt without any civility.She hugged and kissed Scarlat, posing for a moment in front of the mirror.In the end, I got infected by both of them, too, because even Scarlatte put her clothes on and off and pushed Kitty out of the looking-glass with impudence.So, I got up from the comfortable bed, took off my warm sportswear, and started to put on my makeup.When we finally came to the men, Kitty made a striking appearance in brown, Scarlatt in emeralds, and me in light blue; I also wore Mrs. Roemer's brooch. Ernst Schröder sat across from me in the restaurant.He stared obsessively at my brooch, while Kitty and Witold continued talking about the hike without anyone else in sight. "Where did you get this brooch?" he asked, looking at me indifferently.I don't want to give away Mrs. Roemer's story. "Bought it," I replied curtly. "where?" "At an antiques fair," I lied. Ernst held out his hand: "Can I take a closer look?" I unwrapped the bulky thing and showed it to him. He examined the brooch carefully. "It's weird," he said. "Why do you say it's strange?" I asked back, when the story dimly appeared in front of my eyes. "Oh, nothing," he said, "my mother has the same brooch, with the black idol in profile." Witold also came over, and also picked up the brooch to examine it. "Late nineteenth century," he reckoned, "perhaps from our grandparents. Who on earth passed this brooch to your mother?" "It was stolen and my mother was very sad. She wanted to pass it on to her eldest granddaughter, and I don't have any sisters. So, it should have belonged to my daughter. But before Annette was born, my mother has died, and the brooch is long gone." The full-bodied hair has been placed on the table.Everyone ate with relish. It was still the same as the previous two nights. Everyone ate delicious food and drank happily, and the atmosphere was very lively.Ernst Schroeder is especially good at eating and drinking.Although he seemed to be eating endlessly to the family, after two hours, he was obviously a little drunk and appeared to be particularly talkative. "Look at young people these days—especially my promising baby boy, I'm turning white with envy. Look at what people do at eighteen and women, I'll never catch up in my life !" Scarlatt shot him a scorpion-like glance. "My first sexual adventure happened when I was seventeen, but I didn't have it again for a long time. But it happened very early," he said arrogantly. "When I saw Tiha's brooch, I just remembered it!" "Go on!" Witold exclaimed cheerfully. Scarlatt growled, "You're vulgar, Ernst." "Well, that would be wonderful," Ernst went on unimpressed. "I was a very cramped student, as we all were in the fifties. One day, on the way home from school, On the way, a young woman spoke to me because she was looking for a certain street. It happened that I lived on that street. What's more, the person she was looking for happened to live in the basement of our rental apartment. But , no one was home there. My parents were away on vacation for three days. I asked this strange lady to come in and tell her to write a note for those people." We all pricked up our ears. "It's a novel written by life," Witold joked. Scarlatte no longer sat at the same table as her husband. Ernst, the great romantic, obviously interested us. "Believe it or not, I - a complete inexperienced man - seduced this woman even more inexperienced than I was on our first meeting!" "I'm so speechless!" Witold said, "Hakeem, if you're not lying, you're so womanly!" At this moment, Scarlatt was twisting Witold's forearm. "You have no reason to praise him at all!" "And then?" asked Kitty. "My lover is at least eight years older than me. At that time, a woman who was over twenty-five years old and not married probably had psychological barriers and fears." Ernst smiled charmingly at Kitty to show that he There is nothing particularly inappropriate about the sentence. "Well, in a nutshell: we were passionately in love, taking advantage of every opportunity. Of course I, a young lad, would like to marry her. But speaking of the brooch - I got it from my mother I stole it and gave it to my lover as a token of love." "And what happened to that woman after that?" asked Kitty. Ernst stared at the brooch with absent-minded eyes. "I don't know. She moved away suddenly and wrote me a farewell letter without leaving her address. I'll never be able to figure out where she went." "So you think this is your mother's brooch?" Witold asked. "I'm not 100 per cent sure, although when you look at such an odd brooch you'd think there aren't many of that style." Witold picked up the brooch again.He looked at Scarlatt suddenly mischievously. "What do you think a serious lad keeps in his trouser pocket?" She wrinkled her nose. "Bah, hell! You can take out blind bugs and amphibians right now!" Witold laughed loudly: "Your guess is too bad! Of course it is a Swiss Army Knife!" The red Swiss Army knife he holds in his hand is exquisite. "Tihar, may I not carefully uncover the back of this brooch with this most delicate instrument? Perhaps there is a lock of curls, or a jeweler's plate, or an inscription upon it, between the gold plate and the stone." I nodded, and he began to carefully turn down many thin gold teeth.Really, there are two letters engraved on that back wall, invisible from the outside: ES.Ernst was so excited, it must have been his grandmother Elise Schroeder's name. "That means," said Ernst, "my former lover either died and her estate was sold, or she was so poor that she had to leave it." Scarlatt sneered, "You're looking at this with too romantic eyes! Maybe she doesn't particularly like your brooch, and maybe she doesn't think such memories are as sacred as you think." Everyone continued to eat, feeling that everyone's hair was still hot. "How much did you pay for this brooch?" asked Ernst, who was still working on the question. I shrugged: "I'm not very clear about this, but it's very expensive." Witold is very interested in antiques: "Such a thing is of course expensive. I can imagine that it is worth at least three thousand marks in an antique shop in Heidelberg." Ernst said to me in a very soft voice: "I really want to buy this brooch from you, but please don't have any pressure, but think carefully. No matter how much you pay, I will buy it Come down, or I can also buy you a piece of jewelry according to your choice." Ernst Schröder is the father of Frau Rommel's daughter!This is crazy!Does she look like him?This woman was older than Kitty, and I saw her once.She turned out to be the half-sister of Oleg and Annette! I looked at Ernst Schroeder with a certain disgust; he had ruined Frau Römer's life.Then I remembered Scarlatte's affected gesture when he gave Kitty the velvet shirt. "I'm not doing business with you, Ernst," I said with the utmost arrogance, "I'm giving this brooch to your daughter." Hearing this, he felt unhappy.He was very excited, but he always looked at this heirloom with a greedy look. "Tiha," he said, "I'd never accept a present like that. We could go to a big antique fair before Christmas, and you'd pick a good thing there. But you can understand this Does something have unique meaning to me?" Others didn't pay much attention to our deal.They are discussing tomorrow's itinerary.Kitty wanted to spend as much time as possible in the woods and fields, but this time Witold had other ideas. "Colmar or Strasbourg," he suggested, "boys, we can't wander around Alsace for a week and miss all the cultural sights there." "Well, let's go to Strasbourg then," said Scarlatte. "I bought very fashionable shoes there many years ago, and I can find them in this store." "What a bumpkin," Witold teased. The birthday girl likes the brown ceramic soup pots with white flowers and green leaves painted on them. "I want to buy such a thing for myself in Strasbourg. I have written down the cooking method of the whole family in detail. Today, one year later, I invite everyone here to come to my house to taste this dish. commemorate." "That would be awesome," Ernst said kindly. Witold murmured in a low voice that he was going to visit the cathedral, the Alsace Museum and the "Petite France" district. After drinking and eating, everyone was a little lazy.Especially Kitty couldn't help yawning.Witold and she went out for a walk early in the morning. "What time are we leaving tomorrow?" Witold asked. "Oh, Rainer," Scarlett grumbled, "we're on vacation, so we don't have to make a decision now. We'll talk about it tomorrow after breakfast." Kitty continued yawning and asked, "Will you take me for a walk tomorrow morning?" "Of course," said Witold, "I'll knock on the door again. Maybe Tiha will come too." "Maybe," I replied. Kitty wanted to go to bed and rest, so we all left the table and went back to our rooms.She immediately lay down on the big bed, and I had to sleep in a separate bed with her today, because Scarlatte had also taken the extra bed.Kitty lay sprawled, sighed "Good night," and sank into the true dream of the industrious traveler.