When he went down with his cousin for their morning walk, he entered a flower-shop near the Kurhaus; and breathing in agreeably the moist, earthy, scent-laden air, he chose with care from the array a charming hortensia, and ordered it conveyed to the little sufferer’s room, with a card, upon which he wrote no names, but simply “From two housemates, with best wishes for recovery.” All this was an exquisite activity to Hans Castorp; he enjoyed the fragrant breath of the plants; the soft warmth of the shop, after the cold outside, made his eyes fill with tears. His heart beat with a feeling of adventure and audacity, a conviction of the good sense of his modest enterprise, to which, privately, he ascribed a certain symbolic value.