“Ah? Well?” the Hofrat said. His manner was as one expecting from his own experience a very favouring reply, and expressing his agreement in anticipation by the way he puts the question.

“I’m afraid my French was rather lame,” Hans Castorp answered evasively. “I haven’t had much occasion to use it. But the words somehow come into one’s mind when one needs them⁠—so we understood each other tolerably well.”

“I believe you,” said the Hofrat. “Well?” he repeated his inquisition; and even added, of his own motion: “Pretty nice, what?”

Hans Castorp stood, legs and elbows extended, his face turned up, buttoning his shirt-collar.