desperation: “Why have you humiliated me so? If you were a chambermaid, I should forgive you your haughtiness, but as a princess you cannot be excused. Do you hear? It’s the end, the end!”
Mr. Paul opened the door: “Does the gentleman require anything?”
Prokop stopped short; he had said the last words aloud. “No, Paul. Have you any letter for me?”
Mr. Paul shook his head.
The day grew more and more oppressive; it was as if he was entangled in a horrible spider’s web. It was already evening. Then he heard some voices whispering in the passage, and Mr. Paul entered in delighted haste. “Here is a letter for you,” he whispered triumphantly, “shall I turn on the lights?”
“No.” Prokop crushed the thin envelope in his fingers and became aware of the familiar, penetrating scent; it was as if he was trying by smelling to see what was inside. The point of ice dug deeper in his heart. Why did she wait until the evening to write? Because she has nothing to say but: You musn’t come to us this evening. All right, Princess, if it’s the end, then it’s the end. Prokop jumped up, found in the darkness a clean envelope and placed the letter inside it, unopened. “Paul, take this at once to Her Excellence.”
Scarcely had Paul left the room than Prokop wished to call him back. But it was too late and he realized painfully that what he had just done was irrevocable. Then he threw himself on the bed and stifled in the cushions something which was tearing itself out of his mouth against his will.
Mr. Krafft came in, probably as the result of an
