“So you expect,” said Prokop slowly, “that I shall hand you over Krakatit.”
Mr. Carson would have sprung into the air, but Uncle Charles restrained him.
“We take it,” he began seriously, “that you will do everything, or … it may be … make every sacrifice, to save Princess Hagen from any sort of illegal and … impossible position. Under certain conditions … the Princess is allowed to marry a soldier. As soon as you are a captain your position will be regularized … by a strictly secret engagement. The Princess will of course go away and return as soon as she can secure a member of the ruling house as bridegroom for the wedding. Until then … until then we expect you to earn the right to a marriage which we feel to be good both for you and for her. Give me your hand. You need not decide just yet. Consider the matter carefully, consider what your duties are and the sacrifices which you have to make. I could appeal to your ambition, but I am speaking only to your heart. Prokop, she is suffering beyond her strength and bringing to love a greater sacrifice than any other woman. And you too have suffered. Prokop, you are suffering with your conscience, but I will not try to exert any pressure on you because I have confidence in you. Consider the matter carefully, and tell me later. …”
Mr. Carson nodded his head, this time really deeply touched.
“That’s so,” he said. “I don’t come of any sort of family myself, but I must say that … that … I tell you, that woman has race. God! one can see straight away. …” He struck the region of his heart with his fist and blinked his eyes. “Man, I’d throttle you if you weren’t worthy. …”
Prokop was not listening. He sprang up and marched up and down the room with his face distorted with rage. “I—I must, eh?” He ground out hoarsely. “So I must? Good. If I must … you’ve diddled me! But I didn’t want—”
Uncle Rohn stood up and quietly put his hand on his shoulder. “Prokop,” he said, “you must decide yourself. We don’t want to hurry you; consult with the best that there is in you. Ask God, love or conscience or feeling or I don’t know what. But remember that this does not only concern you but her who loves you so much that she’s ready to. …” He waved his hand hopelessly. “Au revoir!”
XLIV
It was an overcast day and rain was falling in a fine drizzle. The Princess continued to cough and was alternately hot and cold, but she could not stay in bed. Impatiently she awaited Prokop’s answer. She looked out of the window to see if he might be coming, and again sent for Paul. The answer was always the same: Mr. Prokop was walking up and down his room. And did he say anything? No, nothing. She dragged herself from one wall to the other and then sat down again, rocking her body to and fro to calm her feverish anxiety. Oh, it was too much to be borne! Suddenly she began to write to him a long letter, entreating him to marry her, and saying that he must not give up a single one of his secrets, that she would enter his life and be faithful to him, whatever might happen. “I love you so much,” she wrote, “that there is no sacrifice which is too great for me to make for you. Test me, remain poor and unknown; I will follow you as your wife and never be able to return to the world which I left. I know that you only love me a little and that with a small part of your heart; but you will get used to me. I have been proud, wicked and passionate; now all is changed, all my familiar surroundings are strange to me, I have ceased to be—” She read the letter through and then tore it into pieces, moaning softly. It was evening. There were still no news of Prokop.
Perhaps he will come without announcing himself, she thought, and in impatient haste she put on her evening clothes, terribly agitated. She stood in front of her mirror and examined herself with burning eyes, horribly dissatisfied with her clothes, the way her hair was dressed, and everything possible. She covered her heated face with a thick layer of powder, and bedecked herself with jewels. But she seemed to herself to be ugly, impossible and awkward. “Hasn’t Paul come?” she asked every moment. At last he arrived: Nothing new; Mr. Prokop was sitting in darkness and had not ordered the lights to be lit.
It was already late and the Princess, utterly exhausted, was sitting in front of her glass. The powder was peeling off her burning cheeks, she looked positively grey and her hands were numb. “Undress me,” she ordered her maid weakly. The fresh, sturdy girl took off one ornament after another, loosened her clothes and wrapped her in a diaphanous peignoir. Just as she was about to begin combing the loose hair of the Princess, Prokop burst into the room, unannounced.
The Princess recoiled and became even more pale. “Go, Marie,” she breathed and drew the peignoir over her thin chest. “Why … have you come?”
Prokop leaned against a cupboard, his face pale and his eyes bloodshot. “So,” he said through his teeth, “that was your plan, eh? You arrange things for me nicely!”
She stood up as if she had been given a blow: “What—what are you saying?” Prokop ground his teeth. “I know what I’m saying. The idea was that … that I should give you Krakatit, eh? They’re getting ready for a war, and you, you,” he cried, “you are their tool! You and your love! You and your marriage, you spy! And I—I was to be lured into it so that
