him that this characterized the situation and he repeated the word several times. Then something began to run about inside his head making a noise like a weir; his head slipped heavily out of the trembling fingers of the Princess and crashed on to the ground. The Princess jumped up wildly and ran for help.
He had no clear idea of what happened next. He felt that three people were lifting him and slowly dragging him along as if he were made of lead. He heard their heavy, dragging steps and quick breath and was surprised that they could not carry him with their fingers alone, like a rag. Some one held his hand the whole time; he turned round and recognized the Princess. “You are good, Paul,” he said to her gratefully. Then began a confused, breathless movement; they were carrying him up the steps, but Prokop thought that they were all falling together to the bottom of an abyss. “Don’t push so,” he roared and his head spun so much that he ceased to take anything in.
When he opened his eyes he found that he was again in the guest’s quarters and that Paul was undressing him with trembling fingers. At the head of the bed was standing the Princess, with widely opened eyes. Prokop’s mind was hopelessly confused. “I fell from a horse, eh?” he muttered. “You . . . were . . . there, eh? Bang, ex-explosion. Litrogly—nitrogry—mikro—Ch2 On2 O2). Com—pli—cated fracture.” He felt the touch of a small, cool hand on his forehead and became quiet. Then he caught sight of the butcher-doctor and dug his nails into somebody’s cold fingers “I don’t
