Description
The Hotel D’Angleterre is well named, for though it stands on the shores of the Mediterranean, with olive groves and orange gardens all around it, nevertheless it is as truly British territory as a London street or a Devonshire village. The visitors are all English, or foreigners with English tastes, all of good social standing, all orthodox in politics as well as in religion; but in spite, or perhaps even in consequence, of all this, the hotel is apt to be a trifle dull. Such was not the case, however, during that memorable winter when it was enlivened by the bright presence of Miss Belinda Grant, before whom dullness vanished as shade before the sun. Hers was the sparkle of strong vitality. She was never tired or languid, or bored or indifferent; but always up to the mark, if not beyond it; and as she was ever ready to employ this overflowing energy in amusing and even directing her fellows, she was generally esteemed and beloved, especially by that large and supine number who like to have everything – even their thinking – done for them. Kohl, the proprietor, heartily approved of a guest who, with the charades, dances, picnics, and entertainments of every kind, which she organized, kept all the other visitors alert and amused; while her brilliancy and her beauty were the admiration of the whole German-Swiss staff, with two exceptions – the concierge, a little man with keenly observant eyes, which from his post in the hall he had good opportunities of using, and Suzanne, the chambermaid on Belinda’s own étage, the third. The concierge said nothing whilst the others sung the praises of this lovely “Mees”; and Suzanne irreverently spoke of her as a “grande gaillarde,” and of the pleasant stir she made wherever she went as a vacarme; but then Suzanne was of a moody and even cynical disposition. One day Belinda and her family were late for the meal which was called either “lonch” or déjeuner, and served at half-past twelve.
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