“I am not allowed,” Joachim answered. “We have to lie⁠—nothing but lie. Settembrini says we live horizontally⁠—he calls us ‘horizontallers’; that’s one of his rotten jokes. Those are healthy people, there⁠—or else they are breaking the rules. But they don’t play very seriously anyhow⁠—it’s more for the sake of the costume. As far as breaking the rules goes, there are more forbidden things besides tennis that get played here⁠—poker, and petits-chevaux , in this and that hotel. At our place there is a notice about it; it is supposed to be the most harmful thing one can do. Even so, there are people who slip out after the evening visit and come down here to gamble. That prince who gave Behrens his title always did it, they say.”

Hans Castorp barely attended. His mouth was open, for he could not have breathed through his nose without sniffing; he felt with dull discomfort that his heart was hammering out of time with the music; and with this combined sense of discord and disorder he was about to doze off when Joachim suggested that they go home.