Prokop recoiled from this relentless monogamy. She stood before him, muffled up to her eyes in her blue fox fur and looked at him in the twilight with glistening eyes. “Oh!” she cried suddenly and sank back into a chair, “my legs are trembling.” She smoothed and rubbed them with naive shamelessness. “How shall I be able to ride? Come, darling, come and see me today. Mon Oncle Charles is away today, and even if he weren’t it’s all the same to me.” She got up and kissed him. “Au revoir.”
In the doorway she stopped, hesitated, and came back to him. “Kill me, please,” she said, her hands hanging limp by her side, “kill me.” He put his hands on her: “Why?”
“So that I shan’t have to go away … and so that I shall never have to be here.” He whispered into her ear: “… Tomorrow.”
She looked at him, and submissively bent down her head; it was … a sign of assent.
When she had been gone some time he also went out into the half-light. Someone a hundred yards away got up from the ground and rubbed the dirt off his clothes with his sleeve. The silent Mr. Holz.
XXXIV
When he joined the company that evening, still not able to believe what had happened, and in an acute state of tension, he found her looking so beautiful that he scarcely knew her. She was conscious of the burning glance with which he enveloped her, glowed with pleasure, and, indifferent to the presence of the others, gave him ardent looks in return. There was a new guest at the castle, named d’Hémon, a diplomat, or something of the sort, Mongolian in appearance, with purple lips and a short black beard. He was evidently thoroughly familiar with physical chemistry; Becquerel, Planck, Niels Bohr, Milliken and similar names simply poured out of his mouth. He had read about Prokop and was extremely interested in his work. Prokop allowed himself to be diverted, talked at some length and forgot for a moment to look at the Princess. As a result he received such a kick on the shin that he positively jumped and all but returned it. The kick was accompanied by a passionately jealous glance. At that moment he was obliged to answer a stupid question put by Prince Suwalski regarding the nature of this energy that they are always talking about. He grasped the sugar-bowl and gave the Princess such a bitter look that she imagined that he was going to throw it at her. He then went on to explain to the Prince that if all the energy which it contained could be liberated at the same moment it would be sufficient to hurl Mont Blanc and Chamonix into the air; but that, as it happened, such a thing could never take place.
“But you’ll do it,” said d’Hémon seriously and definitely.
The Princess leaned over towards them: “What were you saying?”
“I was saying that he will do it,” repeated Monsieur d’Hémon with perfect simplicity.
“There you are,” said the Princess loudly, and sat down victoriously. Prokop grew red and did not dare to look at her.
“And if he does do it,” she asked breathlessly, “will he be terribly famous? Like Darwin?”
“If he does it,” said Monsieur d’Hémon without hesitation, “kings will consider it an honour to carry his coffin. That is, if there are still any kings.”
“Rubbish,” muttered Prokop, but the Princess glowed with inexpressible delight. He would not have looked at her for anything in the world; embarrassed, he mumbled something or other, crumbling a piece of sugar in his fingers. Finally he ventured to lift his eyes. She looked at him directly, with passionate love. “Do you?” she said to him under her breath. He understood only too well what she meant: Do you love me?—but he pretended that he had not heard and quickly looked at the tablecloth instead. God! that girl’s mad, or else she deliberately wants. … “Do you?” came to him across the table, still more loudly and urgently. He nodded quickly and looked at her with eyes filled with happiness. Luckily in the midst of the general conversation nobody noticed them; only Monsieur d’Hémon preserved his discreet and remote expression.
The conversation roved all over the place until suddenly Monsieur d’Hémon, evidently an exceptionally well-informed man, began to talk to Von Graun about his genealogy up to the thirteenth century. The Princess listened with extraordinary interest, whereupon the new guest talked instead about her ancestry, without the slightest difficulty. “Enough,” cried the Princess when he had reached the year 1007, when the first Hagen founded a barony in Estonia, having murdered somebody or other; for the genealogical experts had been unable to go back any further. But Monsieur d’Hémon continued: This Hagen or Agen the One-armed was clearly a Tartar Prince, captured in the course of an expedition into the district of Kamsk. Persian history mentions a certain Khan Agan, who was the son of Giw Khan, King of the Turkomans, the Uzbeks, Sards and Kirghiz, while he again was the son of Weiwus, the son of the conqueror Li-taj Khan. This “Emperor” Li-taj is referred to in the Chinese chronicles as the ruler of Turkoman, Altai and Western Tibet, who had slain as many as fifty thousand people, amongst whom was a Chinese Governor, round whose head he had had twisted a wet rope, until the bones broke. Nothing was known of Li-taj’s ancestors. More might be discovered if access was ever gained to the archives in Lhasa. His son, Weiwus, who was regarded even by the Mongolians as being rather wild, was beaten to death with tent-poles in Kara Butak. His son Giw Khan depopulated Kiev and extended his activities as far as Itil or Astrakhan, where he became famous for having plucked out the eyes of two thousand people and driven them into the Kuban
