“Why, certainly, Herr Settembrini”⁠—Hans Castorp hastened to abandon his forced and even peevish attitude, stop drumming on the bedcover, and turn to his guest with friendliness, even with contrition. “It is uncommonly kind of you⁠—I must ask myself if I really⁠—that is, if there is anything⁠—”

“ Sine pecunia , of course,” quoted Herr Settembrini, as he rose. “I can’t let myself be outdone!” They both laughed. The outer door opened, next moment the inner one as well. It was Joachim, returned from “society.” When he saw the Italian he flushed, as Hans Castorp had done; the deep bronze of his face deepened by another shade.

“Oh, you have company,” he said. “How nice for you! I was detained, they made me make one of a table of bridge. They call it bridge,” he said, shaking his head, “as they do outside, but it was really something else entirely. I won five marks⁠—”