“Why?”
“You would have too much power over me,” she said quietly, and Prokop trembled with delight.
From outside there came the discreet cough of Mr. Holz, and behind the bushes in the distance could be seen the silhouette of Uncle Rohn. “Look, he’s searching for us,” whispered the Princess. “You mustn’t appear this evening.” Their hands grew quiet; the rain hissed on the roof of the summerhouse; they were spattered with cool drops. “Darling, darling,” whispered the Princess and put her face near Prokop’s. “What a thing you are! A big nose, bad-tempered, covered with scars. They say that you’re a great scientist. Why aren’t you a prince?”
Prokop made a movement of impatience.
She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “You’re angry again. And you’ve called me a beast and worse things. You won’t have any mercy for what I do … for what I’m going to do. … Darling,” she concluded, and stretched out her hand towards his face.
He bent over her; they kissed in reconciliation.
Above the noise of the rain came that of the approaching steps of Mr. Holz.
It’s impossible, impossible! The whole day Prokop wandered about trying to catch sight of her. “You mustn’t appear this evening.” Of course, you don’t belong to their society; she feels more free among those swells. It was extraordinary; in the depths of his soul Prokop was aware that he did not really love her, yet he was tortured, full of anger and humiliation. That evening he wandered about the park in the rain thinking of the Princess sitting in the salon in an atmosphere of gaiety and freedom; he felt like a mangy dog which had been kicked out into the rain. There is nothing more painful in life than to be ashamed.
Now we’ll put an end to all this, he decided. He ran home, hurried into evening dress and burst into the smoking-room as he had the evening before. The Princess looked very unhappy, but directly she caught sight of Prokop her lips relaxed into a smile of delight. The other young people welcomed him with friendliness; only Oncle Charles was a shade more formal. The Princess warned him with her eyes: be careful! She hardly spoke at all, as if somehow she was disconcerted; but nevertheless she found an opportunity to slip into Prokop’s hand a crumpled note. “Darling, darling,” she had scrawled in pencil in large letters, “what have you done? Leave us.” He screwed the piece of paper into a ball. No, Princess, no, I shall remain here. I enjoy seeing your relations with these perfumed idiots. For this passionate obstinacy he was rewarded by a burning glance from the Princess. She began to joke with Sulwalski; Von Graun, with all the men, was malicious, cruel, impertinent, laughing at them all pitilessly. Now and then she gave Prokop a quick glance as if to ask him whether he was satisfied with the bodies of her admirers which she was laying at his feet. But he was not satisfied. He frowned and with his eyes asked for five minutes confidential conversation. Then she stood up and led him to some picture or other. “Be sensible, only be sensible,” she whispered feverishly, stood on tiptoe and gave him a warm kiss on the mouth. Prokop was aghast at this insane action; but nobody saw them, not even Oncle Rohn, who otherwise noticed everything with his melancholy, intelligent eyes.
Nothing more happened that day. Nevertheless Prokop tossed on his bed, biting the pillows. And in the other wing of the castle the Princess did not sleep the whole night.
The next morning Paul brought Prokop a perfumed note, without saying from whom it came. “My dear friend,” it ran, “we shall not meet today. I don’t know what I shall do. I am terribly impetuous; please be more sensible than I am. (A few lines were scratched out.) Don’t walk past the castle, or I shall run out to you. Please do something to rid yourself of that horrible guard. I’ve had a bad night. I look terrible and don’t want you to see me today. Don’t come to us. Mon Oncle Charles is already throwing out hints. I shouted at him and am not on speaking terms with him. Dear, advise me: I’ve just got rid of my maid as they’ve told me that she has an affair with a groom and visits him. I can’t stand that. I could have hit her in the face when she confessed it. She was beautiful and cried, and I enjoyed watching her tears. Imagine, I’d never noticed before the way in which tears come. They well up, run down the cheek quickly, stop and then catch up the others. I cannot cry. When I was small I screamed until I was blue in the face, but I never cried. I drove the girl away an hour ago. I hated her and could not bear her to stand near me. You’re right, I’m wicked and full of anger, but how could she dare to do that? Darling, I beg you to speak with her. I’ll have her back and behave to her as you’d like me to. I only want to see that you are able to forgive a woman for such things. You know that I’m wicked and filled with envy. I’m so angry that I don’t know what to do. I should like to see you but I cannot now. Don’t write to me. My love to you.”
Prokop read this to the accompaniment of a wild tune on the piano in the wing of the castle. He wrote: “I see that you do not love me. You are inventing all sorts of obstacles and you do not wish to compromise yourself. You are tired of torturing a man who did not force himself upon you. I thought the position was different and now I am ashamed
