“You are expecting dispatches, Engineer?”

Only one person could talk like that⁠—and he a disturber of Hans Castorp’s peace. The young man started and turned toward Herr Settembrini, who stood there smiling the same fine, humanistic smile that had sat upon his features when he greeted the newcomer, at the bench by the watercourse. Now, as then, it mortified Hans Castorp. We know how often, in his dreams, he had sought to drive away the organ-grinder as an element offensive to his peace; but the waking man is more moral than the sleeping, and, as before, the sight of that smile not only had a sobering effect upon Hans Castorp, but gave him a sense of gratitude, as though it had responded to his need.

“Dispatches, Herr Settembrini? Good Lord, I’m no ambassador! There might be a postcard there for one of us. My cousin is just asking.”