Shortly afterwards the window of the Princess’s room rattled. She jumped up and at that moment there flew into the room a stone wrapped up in a crumbled piece of paper. On one side of the sheet was something illegible, scribbled with a broken pencil, and on the other a series of reproaches written in a small handwriting. The Princess threw on her clothes, but at that moment another report was heard behind the lake—according to the sound, that of a rifle which was loaded with something more than a blank cartridge. But before the Princess had time to leave the room she saw through the window two soldiers dragging along something dark which struggled and tried to throw them off. He was not wounded, then.
The horizon continued to be lit up with long, yellow flames. But the storm which would have cleared the air did not break.
The sobered Prokop again threw himself headlong into work in the laboratory, or at least forced himself to work. Mr. Carson had just left him. He was in a cold rage and had announced unequivocally that everything pointed to Prokop’s being transferred as early as possible to some safer place. If he refused to respond to lenient treatment, they would have to resort to harsher measures. Well, it was all the same, nothing mattered. The test-tube broke in Prokop’s fingers.
In the hall Mr. Holz was waiting with his head wrapped in bandages. Prokop offered him some money as a compensation for the injury, but he would not accept it. Well, let him do as he liked. So he was to be transferred somewhere else—very well. Curse these test-tubes! They break one after another.
In the hall there was the sound of someone being awakened suddenly from dreaming. Probably another visit. Prokop did not trouble to turn round from the lamp he was using. The door creaked. “Darling!” whispered somebody. Prokop staggered, gripped the table and turned round as if in a dream. The Princess was standing with her hand against the doorpost, pale, with a dark, fixed look in her eyes, pressing her hands to her breast as if to muffle the beating of her heart.
Trembling all over, he went across to her and with his fingers touched her cheeks and shoulders as if he could not believe that it was she. She placed her cold fingers on his mouth. Then she looked back into the hall. Mr. Holz had disappeared. …
XXXIII
She sat motionless on the couch, her knees drawn up to her chin, her hair falling across her face and her hands clasped convulsively around her neck. He was afraid of what he had done, and kissed her knees, hands, hair, grovelled on the floor and poured out entreaties and endearments; she did not see or hear. It seemed to him that she trembled with revulsion at his every touch.
Then she quietly got up and went over to the glass. He approached her on tiptoe, hoping to surprise her, but then he caught sight of her reflection. She was looking at herself with an expression so wild, terrible, and desperate, that he was horrified. She turned round and fell on his shoulder. “Am I ugly? Do I revolt you? What have I done, what have I done?” She pressed her face against his chest. “I’m stupid, you see? I know. … I know that you’re disappointed. But you mustn’t be contemptuous of me, you understand?” She nestled against him like a repentant young girl. “You won’t escape, will you? I’ll do anything you like, you see? As if I were your wife. Darling, darling, don’t leave me to think; I shall become horrible to myself again if once I think; you’ve no idea what my thoughts are. Don’t leave me now—” Her trembling fingers caressed his neck; he raised her head and kissed her, murmuring all sorts of things in his ecstasy. Color came back into her face and she became beautiful again. “Am I ugly?” she whispered, happy and dazed, between his kisses, “I should like to be beautiful for your sake. Do you know why I came? I expected that you would kill me.”
“And if you had known what was going to happen,” whispered Prokop, rocking her in his arms, “would you have come?”
The Princess nodded. “I am horrible. What must you think of me! But I won’t let you think.” He embraced her quickly and raised her from the couch. “No, no,” she implored, resisting him. But she lay still with moist eyes, her fingers playing with the hair on his heavy forehead. “Dear, dear,” she sighed, “how you have tortured me these last few days! Do you—?” She did not say the word “love.” He assented passionately: “And you?”
“Yes. You should have seen it already. Do you know what you are? You are the most beautiful horrible man that ever had a big nose. Your eyes are as bloodshot as a St. Bernard’s. Is it through your work? Perhaps you wouldn’t be so nice if you were a prince. Ah! Stop!”
She slipped out of his embrace and went to the mirror to comb her hair. She examined herself attentively and then made a deep bow in front of the glass. “There’s the Princess,” she said, pointing to her image, “and here,” she added,
