She sank into a chair with her eyes wide open with horror; her whole body was shaken by a terrible dry sob. He wanted to throw himself upon her, but she prevented him with a movement of her frozen hand.
“Who are you?” Prokop ground out. “You are a princess? Who persuaded you to this? Do you realize, you worthless creature, that you would have killed thousands and thousands of men, that you would have helped them to destroy cities, and that our world, our world and not yours, would have been obliterated! Obliterated, smashed to fragments, wiped out! Why did you do it?” he cried, and fell on his knees and crawled towards her. “What did you want to do?”
She raised to him a face full of horror and aversion and edged away from him. He bent his face over the spot where she had been sitting and began to cry with the heavy, crude sobs of a raw youth. She would have knelt next to him, but controlled the impulse to do so and retreated still further, pressing her convulsively twisted fingers to her breast. “So,” she whispered, “this is what you think?”
Prokop was being suffocated by the weight of his pain. “Do you know,” he cried, “what war is? Do you know what Krakatit is? Have you never realized that I’m a man? And that—I have a contempt for you! That is why I was good to you! And if I had given up Krakatit it would all have been over; the Princess would have gone away, and I—” He sprang up, beating his head with his fists. “And to think that I wanted to do it! A million lives for the sake of—no, two million dead! Ten million dead! That—that for the sake of a marriage with a princess, eh? To lower oneself so far for that! I was mad! Aa-ah!” he roared, “I loathe you!”
He was terrible, like some monster, with froth on his lips, swollen face and the eyes of a madman. She pressed herself to the wall, deathly pale, with staring eyes and lips twisted with horror.
“Go,” she wailed, “go away!”
“Don’t be afraid,” he said hoarsely, “I shan’t kill you. I always loathed you; even when—even when you were mine, I was horrified and didn’t believe you even for an instant. And yet, yet I—I shan’t kill you. I—know quite well what I’m doing. I—I—” He looked round, picked up a bottle of eau de cologne, poured a generous quantity of it over his hands and rubbed it on his forehead. “Aha!” he cried, “aha-ha! Don’t—be afraid! No—no—”
He calmed down a little, sat down on a chair and put his face in his hands. “Now,” he began hoarsely. “Now, now we must talk, eh? You see that I’m quiet. Not even … not even my fingers are trembling. …” He stretched out his hand to show her, but it trembled so that it was frightful to look at it. “We can … undisturbed, eh? I’m quite calm again. You can dress. Now … your uncle told me that … that I’m obliged … that it’s a question of honour for me to make it possible for you … to repair your slip and that I must … simply must … earn the right to a title … sell myself, and pay for the sacrifice which you—”
She got up deathly pale and wanted to say something. “Wait,” he interrupted her. “I haven’t yet—You all thought … and have your own ideas about honour. But you made a terrible mistake. I’m not a nobleman. I’m … the son of a cobbler. That doesn’t matter much, but … I’m a pariah, you understand? An absolutely commonplace person. I haven’t any honour. You can drive me away like a thief or send me off to a fortress. I won’t give it up. I won’t give Krakatit up. You may think … that I’m base. You can tell them … what I think about war. I was in the war … and I saw poison gases … and know what people are capable of. I won’t give up Krakatit. Why should I trouble to explain it all to you? You won’t understand me; you’re simply a Tartar princess and too lofty. … I only want to tell you I won’t give it up and I humbly thank you for the honour—incidentally, I’m engaged already; I certainly don’t know her, but I’ve betrothed myself to her—that’s my baseness again. I’m sorry that … I’m not worthy of your sacrifice.”
She stood as if petrified, digging her nails into the wall. It was painfully quiet. He got up slowly and heavily: “Have you anything to say?”
“No,” she said quietly and her large eyes continued to gaze into the distance. She looked exquisitely young and tender in her peignoir; he would have knelt down and kissed her trembling knees.
He approached her, wringing his hands. “Princess,” he said in a controlled voice, “now they’ll take me away as a spy or something of the sort. I shan’t try to defend myself. I am prepared for whatever happens. I know that I shall never see you again. Have you anything to say to me before I leave?”
Her lips trembled, but she said nothing. Oh God! why was she staring like that into the distance?
He drew near her. “I loved you,” he said, “I loved you more than I am able to say. I am a base and rough man, but I can tell you that … that I loved you differently. … I took you … and held on to you through fear that you might not be mine, that you would escape me; I wanted to make sure; I could never believe it; and so I—” Not realizing what he was doing, he placed his hand on her shoulder; she trembled under the thin peignoir. “I loved you … desperately. …”
She turned her eyes on him. “Darling,” she whispered and her pale face was flushed for a moment. He bent down and kissed her trembling lips; she made no resistance.
“What,”
