“Now we can go,” whispered the Princess.
That evening the heir to the throne arrived at the castle. At the entrance was drawn up a ceremonial escort; there were official greetings and other functions; the park and the castle were specially illuminated. Prokop sat on a small mound in front of his laboratory, and watched the castle with sombre eyes. Nobody entered it; save for the lights coming from the windows all was quiet and dark.
Prokop heaved a deep sigh and stood up. “To the castle?” asked Mr. Holz, and transferred his revolver from the pocket of his trousers to that of his everlasting mackintosh. When they passed through the park the lights in it had already been extinguished. On two or three occasions some being or other retired into the bushes on their approach and about fifty paces behind them they could hear all the time the sound of someone following them over the fallen leaves. Otherwise all was deserted, terribly deserted. But in one wing of the castle the large windows stood out a bright yellow.
It was autumn, already autumn. Was the water still dripping into the well at Tynice with a silver note? There was not even a wind, yet there was a sort of chill which seemed to run either along the ground or through the trees. Up in the sky a falling star traced a red band of light.
A number of gentlemen in evening dress, magnificent looking and satisfied with themselves, came out on to the terrace at the top of the castle steps, yawned, smoked and laughed a little and then retired. Prokop sat motionless on a seat, twisting a little metal box in his disfigured fingers. Now and then, like a child, he rattled it about. Inside was the broken spoon, the ring and the nameless substance.
Mr. Holz approached cautiously. “She can’t come today,” he said respectfully.
“I know.”
Lights appeared in the windows of the guest’s suite. They were those of the “Prince’s apartments.” And now the whole castle was illuminated, aerial and unsubstantial as in a dream. Everything was to be found within: unheard of wealth, beauty, ambition, fame and dignity, breasts covered with orders, amusements, the art of living, delicacy, wit and self-regard—as if they were different people, different from the like of us. …
Again Prokop rattled his little box like a child. Gradually the lights went out in the windows; that light which was still on belonged to Rohn and that red one to the bedroom of the Princess. Uncle Rohn opened the window to enjoy the cool of the evening and then began to pace from the door to the window, from the window to the door, uninterruptedly. No movement was to be seen in the room of the Princess.
Then even Uncle Rohn put out his light and there was only one left. Would human thought find a means of forcing its way through this hundred or two metres of dumb space and reach the waiting mind of another being? What message have I for you, Tartar Princess? Sleep, it is already autumn; and if some sort of God exists, may he smooth your feverish brow.
The red light went out.
XXXIX
The next morning he decided not to go into the park; he felt rightly that there would be difficulties there. He took up a position in a rather low-lying and deserted part of the grounds in which the direct path from the castle to the laboratory was intercepted by an old, overgrown rampart. He climbed on to the top of it whence, more or less hidden, he could see the corner of the castle and a small part of the park. He liked the place and buried there some of his hand-grenades. He divided his attention between watching the path, a beetle running at his feet, and the sparrows perched on the swinging branches. Once a robin settled there for a moment, and Prokop, holding his breath, gazed at its dark neck; it piped a note or two, twitched its tail and f‑r‑r—it was gone. Below in the park the Princess was walking along by the side of a tall young man while they were followed at a respectful distance by a group of gentlemen. The Princess was looking to the side and moving her hand as if she had in it a switch and was flicking the ground with it. Nothing more was to be seen.
An hour later Uncle Rohn appeared with the fat cousin. Then again nothing. Was it worth while waiting there?
It was almost midday. Suddenly round the corner of the castle there appeared the Princess, heading straight in his direction. “Are you there?” she called in a subdued tone. “Come down and then to the left.”
He slid down from the rampart and pushed his way through the bushes in the direction indicated. There against the wall was a heap of all sorts of objects: rusty hoops, tin pots full of holes, old top hats, filthy rags; God knows how such things had accumulated in the castle. And in front of this miserable pile was standing the Princess, fresh and beautiful, and childishly biting her fingers. “I used to come here to be angry, when I was little,” she said. “Nobody knows of the place. Do you like it here?”
He saw that she would be annoyed if he was not pleased with it. “I like it,” he said quickly.
Her face glowed with pleasure and she put an arm round his neck. “You dear! I used to put an old pot on my head, you know, as a crown and pretended to myself that I was the reigning princess. ‘What may Her Excellency deign to want?’ ‘Harness the four-in-hand; I’m going to Zahur.’ You know, Zahur, that was the place I’d invented. Zahur, Zahur! Darling, is there really such a place in the world? Come, we’ll go to Zahur! Discover it for me, you who know
