“Touchée, mon ami; I’ve been punished for my forwardness, I see, and now the scores are even I think the best thing would be to call it a day.”
She made her intention clear with a quick movement in the direction of the door. – I awoke from my daze:
“No, Princess, I beseech you, do not go! Do not leave in anger! Allow me to correct your opinion of me, of my manners!”
“My dear friend, it’s only a minor case of hurt pride,” – she laughed as she continued towards the door – “it will pass. Goodbye!”
I could contain myself no longer.
“Grant me just a few seconds, Princess, to tell you how foolish I have been – not in my right mind – a complete idiot! But ... you realise, I’m sure, that I’m not a drunkard or a boor. – You don’t know what I have been through these last few hours ... what I have been faced with ... what my brain has had to deal with ...”
“Just as I thought,” answered the Princess, with genuine sympathy and not a hint of mockery. “It’s quite true what everyone says about German poets; they fill their heads with otherworldly thoughts and incomprehensible fantasies! You ought to get out in the fresh air more, my dear; travel, it will take your mind off them.”
“It has just been most painfully brought home to me how right you are, Princess,” I answered, and I could hardly control my tongue any more. “There is a piece of writing which is threatening to get out of hand somewhat. I would consider myself fortunate if you would allow me to use my first break from it to pay a call on you – Lipotin suggested you would be happy to receive such a visit – and seek your forgiveness for my behaviour today.”
The Princess, her hand on the door-knob, turned and gave me a long look; she seemed to hesitate for a moment then gave an amused sigh, which yet managed to sound like the yawn of a big cat, and said:
“If you insist, that’s agreed, then. But I hope you realise you will be expected to make amends ...”
She gave me a mocking nod and in a moment had slipped out, forestalling any further attempt to hold her up. The door shut in my face and by the time I had gathered my wits, it was too late. A car horn sounded in the street outside.
I pulled up the window and watched the car disappear.
If nowadays the dreaded cat-demon of Bartlett Greene, or some Scottish she-devil, insists on paying her calls in a magnificent Lincoln limousine, I asked myself in self-mockery, how can one not fall for her satanic wiles?
Deep in thought, I closed the window and turned round to find Frau Fromm by the desk where only minutes before the Princess had been standing. In the first moment I felt a shock of horror, for I did not recognise her until I took a step towards her, so changed did both her posture and her expression seem. She stood there, silent and motionless, her features drawn but steadfastly observing my every move, fear in her eyes as she tried to read the expression on my face.
I quickly suppressed my surprise at her action, remembering my own contradictory orders and feeling instead a little ashamed – though I could not really say why – in the presence of this strangely agreeable young woman whose very presence seemed to purify the air. I rubbed my hand over my face: there was still a faint, provocative hint of the Princess’ perfume, the scent of a wild beast, on my skin.
I tried to make a joke of it all to Frau Fromm:
“You’re probably somewhat puzzled by my sudden change of mind, Frau Fromm. You mustn’t mind; it’s my work, you see,” and I gestured towards my desk, a gesture which she followed with exaggerated precision. “An idea that just came to me meant that, unexpectedly, the Lady’s visit was welcome. I’m sure you understand?”
“Of course I understand.”
“Well, then, you can see it was not mere caprice ...”
“The only thing I can see is that you are in great danger.”
“But Frau Fromm!” I laughed – a somewhat forced laugh, embarrassed by the harsh tone of my housekeeper’s voice. “However did you come you to such strange fancies?”
“It is not a fancy, sir. It is a matter of life and death for you.”
Had Frau Fromm had one of her “visions”? Did she have second sight? I went up to her. Her eyes followed me closely and stood up to my gaze. That was not the expression of a woman in a half-trance. I tried to recapture my light tone:
“What on earth could make you think that, Frau Fromm? The lady – she is, by the way, a Princess Shotokalungin, a Russian refugee from the Caucasus and, I am sure, suffering the same deprivations as all those persecuted and driven out by the Bolsheviks – the lady need not trouble you; our relationship is not one which – which –”
“– which you are in control of, sir.”
“How do you mean?”
“Because you don’t know her!”
“Do you know the Princess?”
“I know her!”
“You ... know Princess Shotokalungin?! That is certainly very interesting.”
“I – I don’t know her personally.”
“But –?”
“I know her ... over there. – The place where it is
