He had started steel works, had floated _Royal Highness

iron into steel on a large scale, and for building railway bridges. He

had bought up the major part of the shares of four or five big railway

companies, and had been elected in the later years of his life

president, vice-president, manager, or director of the companies. When

the Steel Trust was formed, so the _Courier_ said, he had joined it,

with a holding of shares which guaranteed him an income of $12,000,000.

But at the same time he had been chief shareholder and expert adviser of

the Petroleum Combine, and in virtue of his holding had dominated three

or four of the other Trust Companies. And at his death his fortune,

reckoned in German currency, had amounted to a round thousand million

marks.

Samuel, his only son, the offspring of that early marriage, contracted

in defiance of public opinion, had been his sole heir--and the

_Courier_, with its usual delicacy, interpolated a remark to the effect

that there was something almost sad in the idea of any one, without

himself contributing, and through no fault of his own, being born to

such a situation. Samuel had inherited the palace on Fifth Avenue at New

York, the country mansions, and all the shares, Trust bonds, and profits

of his father; he inherited also the strange position to which his

father had risen, his world-fame and the hatred directed by his

out-distanced competitors against the power of his gold--all the hatred

to allay which he yearly distributed his huge donations to colleges,

conservatories, libraries, benevolent institutions, and that University

which his father had founded and which bore his name.

Samuel Spoelmann did not deserve the hatred of the out-distanced

competitors; that the _Courier_ was sure of. He had gone early into the

business, and had controlled the bewildering possessions of his house

all by himself during his father's last years. But everybody knew that

his heart had never been really in the business. His real inclinations

had been, strange to say, all along much more towards music and

especially organ music--and the truth of this information on the part of

the _Courier_ was certain, for Mr. Spoelmann actually kept a small organ

in the "Spa Court," whose bellows he got a hotel servant to blow, and he

could be heard from the Spa-Garden playing it for an hour every day.

He had married for love and not at all from social considerations,

according to the _Courier_--a poor and pretty girl, half German, half

Anglo-Saxon by descent. She had died, but she had left him a daughter,

that wonderful blood-mixture of a girl, whom we now had as guest within

our walls and who was at the time nineteen years old. Her name was

Imma--a real German name, as the _Courier_ added, nothing more than an

old form of "Emma," and it might be remarked that the daily conversation

in the Spoelmann household, though interlarded with scraps of English,

had remained German. And how devoted father and daughter seemed to be to

each other! Every morning, by going to the Spa-Garden at the right time,

one could watch Fräulein Spoelmann, who usually entered the Füllhause a

little later than her father, take his head between her hands and give

him his morning kiss on mouth and cheeks, while he patted her tenderly

on the back. Then they went arm-in-arm through the Wandelhalle and

sucked their glass tubes as they went....

That is how the well-informed journal gossiped and fed the public

curiosity. It also reported carefully the visits which Miss Imma kindly

paid with her companion to several of the charitable institutions of the

town. Yesterday she had made a detailed inspection of the public

kitchens. To-day she had made a prolonged tour of the Trinity Almhouses

for old women, and she had recently twice attended Privy Councillor

Klinghammer's lectures on the theory of numbers at the university--had

sat on the bench, a student among students, and scribbled away with her

fountain-pen, for everybody knew that she was a learned girl and devoted

to the study of algebra. Yes, all that was absorbing reading, and

furnished ample food for conversation. But the topics which made

themselves talked about without any help from the _Courier_ were,

firstly, the dog, that noble black-and-white collie which the Spoelmanns

had brought with them, and secondly, in a different way, the companion,

Countess Löwenjoul.

As for the dog, whose name was Percival, generally shortened to Percy,

he was an animal of so excitable and emotional a disposition as beggared

description. Inside the hotel he afforded no grounds for complaint, but

lay in a dignified attitude on a small carpet outside the Spoelmanns'

suite. But every time he went out he had an attack of light-headedness,

which caused general interest and surprise, indeed more than once actual

obstruction of traffic.

Followed at a distance by a swarm of native dogs, common curs which,

incited by his demeanour, assailed him with censorious yaps, and which

caused him no concern whatever, he flew through the streets, his nose

spattered with foam and barking wildly, pirouetted madly in front of the

tramcars, made the cab-horses stumble, and twice knocked Widow

Klaaszen's cake stall at the Town Hall down so violently that the sugar

cakes rolled half over the Market-place. But as Mr. Spoelmann or his

daughter at once met such catastrophes with more than adequate

compensation, as too it was discovered that Percival's attacks were

really quite free from danger, that he was anything but inclined to bite

and steal, but on the contrary kept to himself and would let nobody come

near him, public opinion quickly turned in his favour, and to the

children in particular his excursions were a constant source of

pleasure.

Countess Löwenjoul on her side supplied food for conversation in a

quieter but no less strange way. At first, when her personality and

position were not yet known in the city, she had attracted the gibes of

the street urchins, because, while out walking alone, she talked to

herself softly and deliberately, and accompanied her words with lively

and at the same time graceful and elegant gestures. But she had shown

such mildness and goodness to the children who shouted after her and

tugged at her dress, she had spoken to them with such affection and

dignity, that her persecutors had slunk away abashed and confused, and

later, when she became known, respect for her relations with the famous

guests secured her from molestation. However, some unintelligible

anecdotes were secretly circulated about her. One man told how the

Countess had given him a gold piece with instructions that he should box

the ears of a certain old woman who was understood to have made some

unseemly proposal or other to her. The man had pocketed the gold piece,

without, however, discharging his commission.

Further, it was declared as a fact that the Countess had accosted the

sentry in front of the Fusiliers' Barracks and had told him at once to

arrest the wife of the sergeant of one of the companies because of her

moral shortcomings. She had written too a letter to the Colonel of the

regiment to the effect that all sorts of secret and unspeakable

abominations went on inside the barracks. Whether she was right in her

facts, heaven only knew. But many people at once concluded that she was

wrong in her head. At any rate, there was no time to investigate the

matter, for six weeks were soon past, and Samuel N. Spoelmann, the

millionaire, went away.

He went away after having had his portrait painted by Professor von

Lindemann--an expensive portrait too, which he gave to the proprietor of

the "Spa Court" as a memento; he went away with his daughter, the

Countess, and Doctor Watercloose, with Percival, the chamber-velocipede,

and his servants; went by special train to the South, with the view of

spending the winter on the Riviera, whither the two New York journalists

had hastened ahead of him, and of then crossing back home again. It was

all over. The _Courier_ wished Mr. Spoelmann a hearty farewell and

expressed the hope that the cure would be found to have done him good.

And with that the notable interlude seemed to be closed and done with.

Everyday life claimed its due, and Mr. Spoelmann began to fade into

oblivion. The winter passed. It was the winter in which her Grand Ducal

Highness the Princess zu Ried-Hohenried was confined of a daughter.

Spring came, and his Royal Highness Grand Duke Albrecht repaired as

usual to Hollerbrunn. But then a rumour cropped up amongst the people

and in the press, which was received at first with a shrug by the

sober-minded, but became more concrete, crystallized, took to itself

quite precise details, and finally won itself a dominant place in the

solid and pithy news of the day.

What was toward? A Grand Ducal Schloss was about to be sold? Nonsense!

Which Schloss?--Delphinenort. Schloss Delphinenort in the North Park?

Twaddle! Sold? To whom?--To Spoelmann. Ridiculous! What could he do with

it?--Restore it, and live in it. That's all very well. But perhaps our

Parliament might have something to say to that.--They don't care

twopence. Had the State any responsibility for keeping up Schloss

Delphinenort?--If they had, it's a pity they hadn't recognized it, dear

old place. No, Parliament had no say in the matter. Have the

negotiations advanced at all far?--Rather, they're completed. Goodness

gracious, then of course the exact price is known?--Naturally. Sold for

two millions, not a farthing less. Impossible! A Royal Palace! Royal

palace be blowed! We're not talking of the Grimmburg or of the Old

Schloss. We're talking of a country house, an unused country house which

is falling in pieces for lack of funds to keep it up.

So Spoelmann intended to come back every year and spend several weeks in

Delphinenort?--No. For he intended rather to come and settle among us

altogether. He was sick of America, wanted to turn his back on it, and

his first stay amongst us was merely to spy out the land. He was ill, he

wanted to retire from business. He had always remained a German at

heart. The father had emigrated, and the son wanted to come back home.

He wished to take his part in the modest life and intellectual resources

of our country, and to spend the rest of his days in the immediate

neighbourhood of the Ditlinde Spa.

All was confusion and bustle, and discussions without end. But public

opinion, with the exception of the voices of a few grumblers, trended

after a short hesitation in favour of the idea of sale; indeed without

this general approval the matter could never have gone very far. It was

House Minister von Knobelsdorff who first ventured on a cautious

announcement of Spoelmann's offer in the daily press. He had waited and

allowed the popular feeling to come to a decision. And after the first

confusion, solid reasons in favour of the project had made themselves

felt.

The business world was enchanted at the idea of having so doughty a

consumer at its doors. The æsthetes showed themselves delighted at the

prospect of seeing Schloss Delphinenort restored and kept up--at seeing

the noble old building restored to honour and youth in so unforeseen,

indeed so romantic a way. But the economically-minded brought forward

figures which were calculated to cause grave misgivings as to the

financial position of the country. If Samuel N. Spoelmann settled among

us, he would become a tax-payer--he would have to pay us his income-tax.

Perhaps it was worth while showing what that meant. Mr. Spoelmann would

be left to declare his own income, but, from what one knew--and knew

fairly accurately--his residence would mean a yearly revenue of two and

a half millions, in taxes alone, not to mention what he paid in rates.

Worth thinking about, wasn't it? The question was put straight to the

Finance Minister, Dr. Krippenreuther. He would be wanting in his duty if

he did not do all he could to recommend the sale in the highest

quarters. For patriotism demanded that Spoelmann's offer should be

accepted, and patriotism was paramount above all other considerations.

So Excellency von Knobelsdorff had had an interview with the Grand Duke.

He had informed his master of the public opinion, had added that the

price offered, two millions, considerably exceeded the real value of the

Schloss in its present condition, had remarked that such a sum meant a

real windfall for the Treasury, and had ended by slipping in a hint

about the central heating of the Old Schloss, which, if the sale was

carried through, would no longer be an impossibility. In short, the

single-minded old gentleman had brought his whole influence to bear in

favour of the sale, and had recommended the Grand Duke to bring the

matter before a family moot. Albrecht had sucked his lower lip softly

against the upper, and summoned the family moot. It had met in the Hall

of the Knights over tea and biscuits. Only two feminine members, the

Princess Catherine and Ditlinde, had opposed the sale, on the ground of

loss of dignity.

"You will be misunderstood, Albrecht!" said Ditlinde.

"They will charge you with want of respect to your high station, and

that is not right, for you have on the contrary too much; you are so

proud, Albrecht, that everything is all the same to you. But I say No. I

do not wish to see a Croesus living in one of your Schlosses, it is not

right, and it was bad enough that he should have a family physician and

take the Prince's suite in the Spa Court. The _Courier_ harps on the

fact that he is a tax-paying subject, but in my eyes he is simply a

subject and nothing else. What do you think, Klaus Heinrich?"

But Klaus Heinrich voted for the sale. In the first place, Albrecht got

his central heating; secondly, Spoelmann was not one of the common herd,

he was not soap-boiler Unschlitt--he was an exception, and there was no

disgrace in letting him have Delphinenort. Finally Albrecht had, with

downcast eyes, pronounced the whole family moot to be a farce. The

people had long ago made up their minds, his Ministers urged the sale,

and there was nothing left for him to do but to "wave to the

engine-driver and start the train."

The family moot had taken place in spring. From that time onwards the

negotiations for sale, which were carried on between Spoelmann on the

one hand and the Lord Marshal von Bühl zu Bühl on the other, had

proceeded apace, and the summer was not far advanced before Schloss

Delphinenort with its park and out-buildings had become the lawful

property of Mr. Spoelmann.

Then began a scene of bustle and confusion round and in the Schloss,

which daily attracted crowds to the northern side of the park.

Delphinenort was improved and partly reconstructed inside by a swarm of

workmen. For quick, quick, was the order of the day, that was

Spoelmann's wish, and he had only allowed five months' respite for

everything to be ready for him to enter into possession. So a wooden

scaffold with ladders and platforms shot up at lightning speed round the

dilapidated old building, foreign workmen swarmed all over it, and an

architect came with carte blanche over the seas to superintend the work.

But the greater part of the work fell to our native manual workers to

perform, and the stone-masons and tilers, the joiners, gilders,

upholsterers, glaziers, and parquet-layers of the city, the landscape

gardeners and heating and lighting experts, had plenty of remunerative

work all through the summer and autumn.

When his Royal Highness Klaus Heinrich left his window in the

"Hermitage" open, the noise of the work at Delphinenort penetrated right

through to the Empire room, and he often drove past the Schloss amid the

respectful greetings of the public, in order to satisfy himself of the

progress of the restoration. The gardener's cottage was painted up, the

sheds and stables, which were destined to accommodate Spoelmann's fleet

of motors and carriages, were enlarged; and by October, furniture and

carpets, chests and cases full of stuffs and household utensils had been

delivered at Schloss Delphinenort, while it was whispered among the

bystanders that inside the walls skilled hands were at work fitting

Spoelmann's costly organ, which had been sent from over the sea, with

electric action.

There was much excitement to know whether the park belonging to the

Schloss, which had been so splendidly cleaned up and trimmed, was to be

fenced off from the public by a wall or hedge. But nothing of the sort

was done. It was Spoelmann's wish that the property should continue to

be accessible, that no restraint should be placed on the citizens'

enjoyment of the park. The Sunday promenaders should have access right

up to the Schloss, up to the clipped hedge which surrounded the big

square pond--and this did not fail to make an excellent impression on

the population; indeed, the _Courier_ published a special article on the

subject, in which it praised Mr. Spoelmann for his philanthropy.

And behold! when the leaves again began to fall, exactly one year after

his first appearance, Samuel Spoelmann landed a second time at our

railway station. This time the general interest in the event was much

greater than in the preceding year, and it is on record that, when Mr.

Spoelmann, in his well-known faded coat and with his hat over his eyes,

left his saloon, loud cheers were raised by the crowd of spectators--an

expression of feelings which Mr. Spoelmann seemed rather inclined to

resent, and which not he but Doctor Watercloose acknowledged with

blinking eyes and a broad smile. When Miss Spoelmann too alighted, a

cheer was raised, and one or two urchins even shouted when Percy, the

collie, appeared springing, leaping, and altogether beside himself, on

the platform. In addition to the doctor and Countess Löwenjoul there

were two unknown persons in attendance, two clean-shaven and

decided-looking men in strangely roomy coats. They were Mr. Spoelmann's

secretaries, Messrs. Phlebs and Slippers, as the _Courier_ announced in

its report.

At that time Delphinenort was far from ready, and the Spoelmanns at once

took possession of the first floor of the chief hotel, where a big,

haughty, paunch-bellied man in black, the steward or butler of the

Spoelmann establishment, who had preceded them, had made preparations

for them, and put the chamber-velocipede together with his own hands.

Every day, while Miss Imma with her Countess and Percy went for a ride

or a visit to some charitable institution, Mr. Spoelmann hung about his

house, superintending the work and giving orders, and when the end of

the year approached, just after the first snow had fallen, prospect

became fact, and the Spoelmanns took up their abode in Schloss

Delphinenort. Two motor cars (their arrival had been watched with

interest--splendid cars they were) bore the six members of the

party--Messrs. Phlebs and Slippers sat in the hinder one--driven by the

leather-clad chauffeurs, with servants in snow-white fur coats and

crossed arms beside them, in a few minutes from the hotel through the

City Gardens; and as the cars dashed along the noble chestnut avenue

which led to the drive, the urchins climbed up the high lamp-posts which

stood at all four corners of the big spa-basin, and waved their caps and

cheered....

So Spoelmann and his belongings settled down among us, and we basked in

the light of his presence. His white-and-gold livery was seen and known

in the city, just as the brown-and-gold Grand Ducal livery was seen and

known; the negro in scarlet plush who was doorkeeper at Delphinenort

soon became a popular figure, and when passers-by heard the subdued

rumble of Mr. Spoelmann's organ from the interior of the Schloss they

lifted a finger and said: "Hark, he's playing. That means that he's not

got colic for the moment."

Miss Imma was to be seen daily by the side of Countess Löwenjoul,

followed by a groom and with Percy capering round, riding, or driving a

smart four-in-hand through the City Gardens--while the servant who sat

on the back seat stood up from time to time, drew a long silver horn

from a leather sheath and wound a shrill warning of their approach; and

by getting up early one could see father and daughter every morning go

in a dark-red brougham, or, in fine weather, on foot through the park of

Schloss "Hermitage" to the Spa-Garden, in order to drink the waters.

Imma for her part, as already mentioned, again began a course of visits

to the benevolent institutions of the city, though she appeared not to

give up her studies for all that; for from the beginning of the

half-term she regularly attended the lectures of the Councillor

Klinghammer at the University--sat daily in a black dress with white

collar and cuffs among the young students in the lecture-theatre, and

drove her fountain-pen--with her fore-finger raised in the air, a trick

of hers when writing--over the pages of her notebook.

The Spoelmanns lived in retirement, they did not mix in the life of the

town, as was natural in view both of Mr. Spoelmann's ill-health and of

his social loneliness. What social group could he have attached himself

to? Nobody even suggested to him that he should consort with soap-boiler

Unschlitt or bank-director Wolfsmilch on confidential terms. Yet he was

soon approached with appeals to his generosity, and the appeals were not

in vain. For Mr. Spoelmann, who, it was well known, before his departure

from America had given a large sum in dollars to the Board of Education

in the United States, and had also stated in so many words that he had

no intention of withdrawing his yearly contributions to the Spoelmann

University and his other educational foundations--he, shortly after his

arrival at "Delphinenort," put his name down for a subscription of ten

thousand marks to the Dorothea Children's Hospital, for which a

collection was just being made; an action the nobleness of which was

immediately recognized in fitting terms by the _Courier_ and the rest of

the press.

In fact, although the Spoelmanns lived in seclusion in a social sense, a

certain amount of publicity attached to their life among us from the

earliest moments, and in the local section of the daily newspapers at

least their movements were followed with as much particularity as those

of the members of the Grand Ducal House. The public were informed when

Miss Imma had played a game of lawn tennis with the Countess and Messrs.

Phlebs and Slippers in the "Delphinenort" park; it was noted when she

had been at the Court Theatre, and whether her father had gone with her

for an act or two of the Opera; and if Mr. Spoelmann shrank from

curiosity, never leaving his box during the intervals and scarcely ever

showing himself on foot in the streets, yet he was obviously not

insensible to the duties of a spectacular kind which were inherent in an

extraordinary existence like his own, and he gave the love of gazing its

due.

It has been said that the "Delphinenort" park was not divided from the

Town Gardens. No walls separated the Schloss from the outer world. From

the back one could walk over the turf right up to the foot of the broad

covered terrace which had been built on that side, and, if bold enough,

look through the big glass door straight into the high white-and-gold

garden-room in which Mr. Spoelmann and his family had five-o'clock tea.

Indeed, when summer came, tea was laid on the terrace outside, and Mr.

and Miss Spoelmann, the Countess and Doctor Watercloose sat in basket

chairs of a new-fangled shape, and took their tea as if on a public

platform.

For on Sunday, at any rate, there was never wanting a public to enjoy

the spectacle at a respectful distance. They called each other's

attention to the silver tea-kettle, which was heated by electricity--a

quite novel idea--and to the wonderful liveries of the two footmen who

handed the tea and cakes, white, high-buttoned, gold-laced coats with

swan's-down on the collars, cuffs, and seams. They listened to the

English-German conversation and followed with open mouths every movement

of the notable family on the terrace. They then went round past the

front door, in order to shout a few witticisms in the local dialect to

the red-plush negro, which he answered with a dental grin.

Klaus Heinrich saw Imma Spoelmann for the first time on a bright

winter's day at noon. That does not mean that he had not already caught

sight of her often at the theatre, in the street, and in the town park.

But that's quite a different thing. He saw her for the first time at

this midday hour in exciting circumstances.

He had been giving "free audiences" in the Old Schloss till half-past

eleven, and after they were finished had not returned at once to Schloss

"Hermitage," but had ordered his coachman to keep the carriage waiting

in one of the courts, as he wished to smoke a cigarette with the Guards

officers on duty. As he wore the uniform of that regiment, to which his

personal aide-de-camp also belonged, he made an effort to maintain the

semblance of some sort of camaraderie with the officers; he dined from

time to time in their mess and occasionally gave them half an hour of

his company on guard, although he had a dim suspicion that he was rather

a nuisance as he kept them from their cards and smoking-room stories.

So there he stood, the convex silver star of the Noble Order of the

Grimmburg Griffin on his breast, his left hand planted well back on his

hip, with Herr von Braunbart-Schellendorf, who had given due notice of

the visit in the officers' mess, which was situated on the ground floor

of the Schloss near the Albrechts Gate--engaged in a trivial

conversation with two or three officers in the middle of the room, while

a further group of officers chatted at the deep-set window. Owing to the

warmth of sun outside the window stood open, and from the barracks along

the Albrechtstrasse came the strains of the drum and fife band of the

approaching relief guard.

Twelve o'clock struck from the Court Chapel tower. The loud "Fall in!"

of the non-commissioned officer was heard outside, and the rattle of

grenadiers standing to arms. The public collected on the square. The

lieutenant on duty hastily buckled on his sword belt, clapped his heels

together in a salute to Klaus Heinrich and went out. Then suddenly

Lieutenant von Sturmhahn, who had been looking out of the window, cried

with that rather poor imitation of familiarity which was proper to the

relations between Klaus Heinrich and the officers: "Great heavens,

here's something for you to look at, Royal Highness! There goes Miss

Spoelmann, with her algebra under her arm...."

Klaus Heinrich walked to the window. Miss Imma was walking by herself

along the pavement. With both hands thrust into her big flat muff, which

was trimmed with pendent tails, she carried her notebook pressed to her

side with her elbow. She was wearing a long coat of shiny black fox, and

a toque of the same fur on her dark foreign-looking hair. She was

obviously coming from "Delphinenort" and hurrying towards the

University. She reached the main guard-house at the moment at which the

relief guard marched up the gutter, over against the guard on duty,

which standing at attention in two ranks occupied the pavement. She was

absolutely compelled to go round, outside the band and the crowd of

spectators--indeed, if she wished to avoid the open square with its

tram-lines, to make a fairly wide detour on the footpath running round

it--or to wait for the end of the military ceremony.

She showed no intention of doing either. She made as if to walk along

the pavement in front of the Schloss right down between the two ranks of

soldiers. The sergeant with the harsh voice stepped forward quickly.

"Not this way!" he cried and held the butt of his rifle in front of her.

"Not this way! Right about! Wait!"

But Miss Spoelmann fired up. "What d'you mean?" she cried. "I'm in a

hurry!"

But her words were not so impressive as the expression of honest,

passionate, irresistible anger with which they were uttered. How slight

and lonely she was! The fair-haired soldiers round her towered head and

shoulders above her. Her face was as pale as wax at this moment, her

black eyebrows were knitted in a hard and expressive wrinkle, her

nostrils distended, and her eyes, black with excitement and wide-opened,

spoke so expressive and bewitching a language that no protest seemed

possible.

"What d'you mean?" she cried. "I'm in a hurry!" And as she said it she

pushed the rifle-butt, and the stupefied sergeant with it, aside, and

walked down between the lines, went straight on her way, turned to the

left into Universitätsstrasse and vanished.

"I'm dammed!" cried Lieutenant von Sturmhahn. "That's one for us!" The

officers at the window laughed. The spectators outside, too, were much

amused, and not unsympathetic. Klaus Heinrich joined in the general

hilarity. The changing of the guard proceeded with loud words of command

and snatches of march tunes. Klaus Heinrich returned to the "Hermitage."

He lunched all alone, went for a ride in the afternoon on his brown

horse Florian, and spent the evening at a big party at Dr.

Krippenreuther, the Finance Minister's house. He related to several

people with great animation the episode of the guard, although the story

had already gone the round and become common property. Next day he had

to go away, for he had been told by his brother to represent him at the

inauguration of the new Town Hall in a neighbouring town. For some

reason or other, he went reluctantly, he disliked leaving the capital.

He had a feeling that he was missing an important, pleasant, though

rather disquieting opportunity, which imperatively demanded his

presence. And yet his exalted calling must be more important. But while

he sat serene and gorgeously dressed on his seat of honour in the Town

Hall, and read his speech to the Mayor, Klaus Heinrich's thoughts were

not concentrated on the figure he presented to the eyes of the crowd,

but rather were busied with this new and important topic. He also gave a

passing thought to a person whose casual acquaintance he had made long

years before, to Fräulein Unschlitt, the soap-boiler's daughter--a

memory which had a certain connexion with the importunate topic....

Imma Spoelmann pushed the harsh-voiced sergeant aside in her

anger--walked all alone, her algebra under her arm, down the ranks of

the big fair-haired grenadiers. How pearly-white her face was against

her black hair under her fur toque, and how her eyes spoke! There was

nobody like her. Her father was rich, surfeited with riches, and had

bought one of the Grand Ducal Schlosses. What was it that the _Courier_

had said about his undeserved reputation and the "romantic isolation of

his life"? He was the object of the hatred of aggrieved rivals--that was

the effect of the article. And her nostrils had distended with anger.

There was nobody like her, nobody near or far. She was an exception. And

suppose she had been at the Citizens' Ball on that occasion? He would

then have had a companion, would not have made a fool of himself, and

would not have ended the evening in despair. "Down, down, down with

him!" Phew! Just think of how she looked as she walked, dark and pale

and wonderful, down the ranks of fair-haired soldiers.

These were the thoughts which occupied Klaus Heinrich during the next

few days--just these three or four mental pictures. And the strange

thing is that they were amply sufficient for him, and that he did not

want any more. But all things considered, it seemed to him more than

desirable that he should get another glimpse of the pearly-white face

soon, to-day if possible.

In the evening he went to the Court Theatre, where _The Magic Flute_ was

being played. And when from his box he descried Miss Spoelmann next to

Countess Löwenjoul in the front of the circle, a tremor went right

through him. During the opera he could watch her out of the darkness

through his opera-glasses, for the light from the stage fell on her. She

laid her head on her small, ringless hand, while she rested her bare arm

on the velvet braid, and she did not look angry now. She wore a dress of

glistening sea-green silk with a light scarf on which bright flowers

were embroidered, and round her neck a long chain of sparkling diamonds.

She really was not so small as she looked, Klaus Heinrich decided, when

she stood up at the end of the act. No, the childish shape of her head

and the narrowness of her shoulders accounted for her looking such a

little thing. Her arms were well developed, and one could see that she

played games and rode. But at the wrist her arm looked like a child's.

When the passage came: "He is a prince. He is more than that," Klaus

Heinrich conceived the wish to have a talk with Doctor Ueberbein. Doctor

Ueberbein called by chance next day at the "Hermitage" in a black

frock-coat and white tie, as usual when he paid Klaus Heinrich a visit.

Klaus Heinrich asked him whether he had already heard the story of the

changing of the guard. Yes, answered Doctor Ueberbein, several times.

But would Klaus Heinrich like to relate it to him again?... "No, not if

you know it," said Klaus Heinrich, disappointed. Then Doctor Ueberbein

jumped to quite another topic. He began to talk about opera-glasses, and

remarked that opera-glasses were a wonderful invention. They brought

close what was unfortunately a long way off, did they not? They formed a

bridge to a longed-for goal. What did Klaus Heinrich think? Klaus

Heinrich was inclined to agree to a certain extent. And it seemed that

yesterday evening, so people said, he had made a free use of this grand

invention, said the doctor. Klaus Heinrich could not see the point of

this remark.

Then Doctor Ueberbein said: "No, look here, Klaus Heinrich, that won't

do. You are stared at, and little Imma is stared at, and that's enough.

If you add to it by staring at little Imma, that's too much. You must

see that, surely?"

"Oh dear, Doctor Ueberbein, I never thought of that."

"But in other cases you generally do think of that sort of thing."

"I've felt so funny for the last few days," said Klaus Heinrich.

Doctor Ueberbein leaned back, pulled at his red beard near his throat,

and nodded slowly with his head and neck.

"Really? Have you?" he asked. And then went on nodding.

Klaus Heinrich said: "You can't think how reluctant I was to go the

other day to the inauguration of the Town Hall. And to-morrow I have to

superintend the swearing-in of the Grenadier recruits. And then comes

the Chapter of the Family Order. I don't feel a bit in the mood for

that. I find no pleasure in doing my duty as the representative of my

people. I've no inclination for my so-called lofty calling."

"I'm sorry to hear it!" said Doctor Ueberbein sharply.

"Yes, I might have known that you would be angry, Doctor Ueberbein. Of

course you'll call it sloppiness, and will read me a sermon about

'destiny and discipline,' if I know you. But at the opera yesterday I

thought of you at one point, and asked myself whether you really were so

right in several particulars...."

"Look here, Klaus Heinrich, once already, if I'm not mistaken, I've

dragged your Royal Highness out of the mud, so to speak...."

"That was quite different, Doctor Ueberbein! How I wish you could see

that was absolutely different! That was at the Citizens' Ball, but it

was years ago, and I don't feel a twinge in that direction. For she is

... Look you, you have often explained to me what you understand by

'Highness,' and that it is something affecting, and something to be

approached with tender sympathy. Don't you think that she of whom we are

speaking, that she is affecting and that one must feel sympathy with

her?"

"Perhaps," said Doctor Ueberbein. "Perhaps."

"You often said that one must not disavow exceptions, that to do so was

sloppiness and slovenly and good-nature. Don't you think that she too of

whom we are speaking is an exception?"

Doctor Ueberbein was silent. Then he said suddenly and decidedly, "And

now I, if possible, am to help to make two exceptions into a rule?"

Thereupon he went out. He said that he must get back to his work,

emphasizing the word "work," and begged leave to withdraw. He took his

departure in a strangely ceremonious and unfatherly way.

Klaus Heinrich did not see him for ten or twelve days. He asked him to

lunch once, but Doctor Ueberbein begged to be excused, his work at the

moment was too pressing. At last he came spontaneously. He was in high

spirits and looked greener than ever. He blustered about this and that,

and at last came to the subject of the Spoelmanns, looking at the

ceiling and pulling at his throat when he did so. To be quite fair, he

said, there was a striking amount of sympathy felt with Samuel

Spoelmann, one could see all over the town how much beloved he was.

Chiefly of course as an object of taxation, but in other respects too.

There was simply a penchant for him, in every class, for his

organ-playing and his faded coat and his kidney-colic. Every errand boy

was proud of him, and if he were not so unapproachable and morose he

would already have been made to feel it.

The ten-thousand marks donation for the Dorothea Hospital had naturally

made an excellent impression. His friend Sammet had told him (Ueberbein)

that with the help of this donation far-reaching improvements had been

undertaken in the Hospital. And for the rest, it had just occurred to

him! Little Imma was going to inspect the improvements to-morrow

morning, Sammet had told him. She had sent one of her swan's-down

flunkeys and asked whether she would be welcome to-morrow. She and sick

children were a devilish funny mixture, opined Ueberbein, but perhaps

she might learn something. To-morrow morning at eleven, if his memory

did not mislead him.

Then he talked about other things. On leaving he added: "The Grand Duke

ought to take some interest in the Dorothea Hospital, Klaus Heinrich,

it's expected of him. It's a blessed institution. In short, somebody

ought to show the way, give signs of an interest in high quarters. No

wish to intrude.... And so good-bye."

But he came back once more, and in his green face a flush had appeared

under the eyes which looked entirely out of place there. "If," he said

deliberately, "I ever caught you again with a soup tureen on your head,

Klaus Heinrich, I should leave it there." Then he pressed his lips

together and went out.

Next morning shortly before eleven Klaus Heinrich walked with Herr von

Braunbart-Schellendorf, his aide-de-camp, from Schloss "Hermitage"

through the snow-covered birch avenue over rough suburban streets

between humble cottages, and stopped before the neat white house over

whose entrance "Dorothea Children's Hospital" was painted in broad black

letters. His visit had been announced. The senior surgeon of the

institution, in a frock-coat with the Albrechts Cross of the Third

Class, was awaiting him with two younger surgeons and the nursing staff

in the hall. The Prince and his companion were wearing helmets and fur

coats. Klaus Heinrich said: "This is the renewal of an old acquaintance,

my dear doctor. You were present when I came into the world. You are

also a friend of my tutor Ueberbein's. I am delighted to meet you."

Doctor Sammet, who had grown grey in his life of active philanthropy,

bowed to one side, with one hand on his watch-chain and his elbows close

to his ribs. He presented the two junior surgeons and the sister to the

Prince, and then said: "I must explain to your Royal Highness that your

Royal Highness's gracious visit coincides with another visit. Yes. We

are expecting Miss Spoelmann. Her father has done such a lot for our

institution.... We could not very well upset the arrangements. The

sister will take Miss Spoelmann round."

Klaus Heinrich received the news of this rencontre without displeasure.

He first expressed his opinion of the nurses' uniform, which he called

becoming, and then his curiosity to inspect the philanthropic

institution. The tour began. The sister and three nurses waited behind

in the hall.

All the walls in the building were whitewashed and washable. Yes. The

water taps were huge, they were meant to be worked with the elbows for

reasons of cleanliness. And rinsing apparatus had been installed for

washing the milk-bottles. One passed first through the reception room,

which was empty save for a couple of disused beds and the surgeons'

bicycles. In the adjoining preparation room there were, besides the

writing-table and the stand with the students' white coats, a kind of

folding table with oil-cloth cushions, an operating-table, a cupboard of

provisions, and a trough-shaped perambulator. Klaus Heinrich paused at

the provisions and asked for the recipes for the preparations to be

explained to him. Doctor Sammet thought to himself that if the whole

tour was going to be made with such attention to details, a terrible lot

of time would be wasted.

Suddenly a noise was heard in the street. An automobile drove up tooting

and stopped in front of the building. Cheers were heard distinctly in

the preparation room, for all that it was only children that were

shouting. Klaus Heinrich did not pay any particular attention to the

incident. He was looking at a box of sugar of milk, which, by the way,

had nothing striking about it. "A visitor apparently," he said. "Oh, of

course, you said somebody was coming. Let's go on."

The party proceeded to the kitchen, the milk-kitchen, the big

boiler-fitted room for the preparing of milk, the place where full milk,

boiled milk, and buttermilk were kept. The daily rations were set on

clean white tables in little bottles side by side. The place smelt

sourish and sickly.

Klaus Heinrich gave his undivided attention to this room also. He went

so far as to taste the buttermilk, and pronounced it excellent. How the

children must thrive, he considered, on buttermilk like that. During

this inspection the door opened and Miss Spoelmann entered between the

sister and Countess Löwenjoul, followed by the three nurses.

The coat, toque, and muff which she was wearing to-day were made of the

costliest sable, and her muff was suspended on a golden chain set with

coloured stones. Her black hair showed a tendency to fall in smooth

locks over her forehead. She took in the room at a glance; her eyes were

really almost unbecomingly big for her little face, they dominated it

like a cat's, save that they were black as anthracite and spoke a

pleading language of their own.... Countess Löwenjoul, with a feather

hat and dressed neatly and not without distinction, as usual, smiled in

a detached sort of way.

"The milk-kitchen," said the sister; "this is where the milk is cooked

for the children."

"So one would have supposed," answered Miss Spoelmann. She said it

quickly and lightly, with a pout of her lips and a little haughty wag of

her head. Her voice was a double one; it consisted of a lower and a

higher register, with a break in the middle.

The sister was quite disconcerted. "Yes," she said, "it's obvious." And

a little pained look of bewilderment was visible in her face.

The position was a complicated one. Doctor Sammet looked in Klaus

Heinrich's face for orders, but as Klaus Heinrich was accustomed to do

what was put before him according to prescribed forms, but not to

grapple with novel and complex situations, no solution of the difficulty

was forthcoming. Herr von Braunbart was on the point of intervening, and

Miss Spoelmann on the other side was making ready to leave the

milk-kitchen, when the Prince made a gesture with his right hand which

established a connexion between himself and the young girl. This was the

signal for Doctor Sammet to advance towards Imma Spoelmann.

"Doctor Sammet. Yes." He desired the honour of presenting Miss Spoelmann

to his Royal Highness.... "Miss Spoelmann, Royal Highness, the daughter

of Mr. Spoelmann to whom this hospital is so much indebted."

Klaus Heinrich clapped his heels together and held out his hand in its

white gauntlet, and, laying her small brown-gloved hand in it, she gave

him a horizontal hand-shake, English fashion, at the same time making a

sort of shy curtsey, without taking her big eyes off Klaus Heinrich's

face. He could think of nothing more original to say than: "So you too

are paying a visit to the hospital, Miss Spoelmann?"

And she answered as quickly as before, with a pout and the little

haughty wag of her head. "Nobody can deny that everything points in that

direction."

Herr Braunbart involuntarily raised his hand, Doctor Sammet looked down

at his watch-chain in silence, and a short snigger escaped through the

nose of one of the young surgeons, which was hardly opportune. The

little pained look of bewilderment now showed on Klaus Heinrich's face.

He said: "Of course.... As you are here.... So I shall be able to visit

the institution in your company, Miss Spoelmann.... Captain von

Braunbart, my aide-de-camp ..." he added quickly, recognizing that his

remark laid him open to a similar answer to the last. She responded by:

"Countess Löwenjoul."

The Countess made a dignified bow--with an enigmatic smile, a side

glance into the unknown, which had something seductive about it. When,

however, she let her strangely evasive gaze again dwell on Klaus

Heinrich, who stood before her in a composed and military attitude, the

laugh vanished from her face, an expression of sadness settled on her

features, and for a second a look of something like hatred for Klaus

Heinrich shone in her slightly swollen grey eyes. It was only a passing

look. Klaus Heinrich had no time to notice it, and forgot it

immediately. The two young surgeons were presented to Imma Spoelmann,

and then Klaus Heinrich suggested that they should continue the tour all

together.

They went upstairs to the first story; Klaus Heinrich and Imma Spoelmann

in front, conducted by Doctor Sammet, then Countess Löwenjoul with Herr

von Braunbart, and the young surgeons in the rear. Yes, the older

children were here, up to fourteen years of age. An ante-room with

wash-basins divided the girls' and the boys' rooms. In white bedsteads,

with a name-plate at the head and a frame at the foot enclosing the

temperature- and weight-charts--tended by nurses in white caps, and

surrounded by cleanliness and tidiness--lay the sick children, and

coughs filled the room while Klaus Heinrich and Imma Spoelmann walked

down between the rows.

He walked at her left hand, out of courtesy, with the same smile as when

he visited exhibitions or inspected veterans, gymnastic associations, or

guards of honour. But every time he turned his head to the right he

found that Imma Spoelmann was watching him--he met her great black eyes,

which were directed at him in a searching, questioning way. It was so

peculiar, he never remembered experiencing anything so peculiar before,

her way of looking at him with her great eyes, without any respect for

him or anyone else, absolutely unembarrassed and free, quite unconcerned

whether anybody noticed it or not.

When Doctor Sammet stopped at a bed to describe the case--the little

girl's, for instance, whose broken white-bandaged leg stuck straight out

along the bed--Miss Spoelmann listened attentively to him, that was

quite clear; but while she listened she did not look at the speaker, but

her eyes rested in turn on Klaus Heinrich and the pinched, quiet child

who, her hands folded on her breast, gazed up at them from her

back-rest--rested in turn on the Prince and the little victim, the

history of whose case she shared with the Prince, as if she were

watching Klaus Heinrich's sympathy, or were trying to read in his face

the effect of Dr. Sammet's words; or maybe for some other reason.

Yes, this was especially noticeable in the case of the boy with the

bullet through his arm and the boy who had been picked out of the

water--two sad cases, as Dr. Sammet remarked. "A severed artery,

sister," he said, and showed them the double wound in the boy's upper

arm, the entry and exit of the revolver bullet. "The wound," said Doctor

Sammet in an undertone to his guests, turning his back to the bed, "the

wound was caused by his own father. This one was the lucky one. The man

shot his wife, three of his children, and himself with a revolver. He

made a bad shot at this boy."

Klaus Heinrich looked at the double wound. "What did the man do it for?"

he asked hesitatingly, and Doctor Sammet answered: "In desperation,

Royal Highness. It was shame and want which brought him to it. Yes." He

said no more, just this commonplace--just as in the case of the boy, a

ten-year-old, who had been picked out of the water. "He's wheezing,"

said Doctor Sammet, "he's still got some water in his lung. He was

picked out of the river early this morning--yes. I may say that it is

improbable that he _fell_ into the water. There are many indications to

the contrary. He had run away from home. Yes." He stopped.

And Klaus Heinrich again felt Miss Spoelmann looking at him with her

big, black, serious eyes--with her glance which sought his own and

seemed to challenge him insistently to ponder with her the "sad cases,"

to grasp the essential meaning of Doctor Sammet's remarks, to penetrate

to the hideous truths which were incorporated and crystallized in these

two little invalid frames.... A little girl wept bitterly when the

steaming and hissing inhaler, together with a scrapbook full of brightly

coloured pictures, was planted at her bedside.

Miss Spoelmann bent over the little one. "It doesn't hurt," she said,

"not a tiny bit. Don't cry." And as she straightened herself again she

added quickly, pursing up her lips, "I guess it's not so much the

apparatus as the pictures she's crying at." Everybody laughed. One of

the young assistants picked up the scrapbook and laughed still louder

when he looked at the pictures. The party passed on into the laboratory.

Klaus Heinrich thought, as he went, how dry Miss Spoelmann's humour was.

"I guess," she had said, and "not so much." She had seemed to find

amusement not only in the pictures, but also in the neat and incisive

mode of expression she had used. And that was indeed the very refinement

of humour....

The laboratory was the biggest room in the building. Glasses, retorts,

funnels, and chemicals stood on the tables, as well as specimens in

spirits which Doctor Sammet explained to his guests in few quiet words.

A child had choked in a mysterious way: here was his larynx with

mushroom-like growths instead of the vocal chords. Yes. This, here in

the glass, was a case of pernicious enlargement of the kidney in a

child, and there were dislocated joints. Klaus Heinrich and Miss

Spoelmann looked at everything, they looked together into the bottles

which Doctor Sammet held up to the window, and their eyes looked

thoughtful while the same look of repulsion hovered round their mouths.

They took turns too at the microscope, examined, with one eye placed to

the lens, a malignant secretion, a piece of blue-stained tissue stuck on

a slide, with tiny spots showing near the big patch. The spots were

bacilli. Klaus Heinrich wanted Miss Spoelmann to take the first turn at

the microscope, but she declined, knitting her brows and pouting, as

much as to say: "On no account whatever." So he took the precedence, for

it seemed to him that it really did not matter who got the first look at

such serious and fearful things as bacilli. And after this they were

conducted up to the second story, to the infants.

They both laughed at the chorus of squalls which reached their ears

while they were still on the stairs. And then they went with their party

through the ward between the beds, bent, side by side over the

bald-headed little creatures, sleeping with closed fists or screaming

with all their might and showing their naked gums--they stopped their

ears and laughed again. In a kind of oven, warmed to a moderate heat lay

a new-born baby.

And Doctor Sammet showed his distinguished guests a pauper baby with the

grey look of a corpse and hideous big hands, the sign of a

miscarriage.... He lifted a squealing baby out of its cot, and it at

once stopped screaming. With the touch of an expert he rested the limp

head in the hollow of his hand and showed the little red creature

blinking and twitching spasmodically to the two--Klaus Heinrich and Miss

Spoelmann, who stood side by side and looked down at the infant. Klaus

Heinrich stood watching with his heels together as Doctor Sammet laid

the baby back in its cot, and when he turned round he met Miss

Spoelmann's searching gaze, as he had expected.

Finally they walked to one of the three windows of the ward and looked

out over the squalid suburb, down into the street where, surrounded by

children, the brown Court carriage and Imma's smart dark-red motor car

stood one behind the other. The Spoelmanns' chauffeur, shapeless in his

fur coat, was leaning back in his seat with one hand on the

steering-wheel of the powerful car, and watched his companion, the

footman in white, trying to start a conversation, by the carriage in

front, with Klaus Heinrich's coachman.

"Our neighbours," said Doctor Sammet, holding back the white net curtain

with one hand, "are the parents of our patients. Late in the evening the

tipsy fathers roll shouting by. Yes."

They stood and listened, but Doctor Sammet said nothing further about

the fathers and so they broke off, as they had now seen everything.

The procession, with Klaus Heinrich and Imma at the head, proceeded down

the staircase and found the nurses again assembled in the front hall.

Leave was taken with compliments and clapping together of heels,

curtseys, and bows. Klaus Heinrich, standing stiffly in front of Doctor

Sammet, who listened to him with his head on one side and his hand on

his watch-chain, expressed himself, in his wonted form of words, highly

satisfied with what he had seen, while he felt that Imma Spoelmann's

great eyes were resting upon him. He, with Herr von Braunbart,

accompanied Miss Spoelmann to her car when the leave-taking from the

surgeons and nurses was over. Klaus Heinrich and Miss Spoelmann, while

they crossed the pavement between children and women with children in

their arms, and for a short time by the broad step of the motor car,

exchanged the following remarks:

"It has been a great pleasure to meet you," he said.

She answered nothing to this, but pouted and wagged her head a little

from side to side.

"It was an absorbing inspection," he went on. "A regular eye-opener."

She looked at him with her big black eyes, then said quickly and lightly

in her broken voice: "Yes, to a certain extent...."

He ventured on the question: "I hope you are pleased with Schloss

Delphinenort?"

To which she answered with a pout: "Oh, why not? It's quite a convenient

house...."

"Do you like being there better than at New York?" he asked. And she

answered:

"Just as much. It's much the same. Much the same everywhere."

That was all. Klaus Heinrich, and one pace behind him Herr von

Braunbart, stood with their hands to their helmets as the chauffeur

slipped his gear in and the motor car shivered and started.

It may be imagined that this meeting did not long remain the private

property of the Dorothea Hospital; on the contrary, it was the general

topic of conversation before the day was out. The _Courier_ published,

under a sentimental poetical heading, a detailed description of the

rencontre, which, without too violent a departure from the exact truth,

yet succeeded in making such a powerful impression on the public mind,

and evoked symptoms of such lively interest, that the vigilant newspaper

was induced to keep a watchful eye for the future on any further

rapprochements between the Spoelmann and Grimmburg houses. It could not

report much.

It remarked a couple of times that his Royal Highness Prince Klaus

Heinrich, when walking through the promenade after a performance at the

Court Theatre, had stopped for a moment at the Spoelmanns' box to greet

the ladies. And in its report of the fancy-dress charity bazaar, which

took place in the middle of January in the Town Hall--a smart function,

in which Miss Spoelmann, at the urgent request of the Committee, acted

as seller--no small space was devoted to describing how Prince Klaus

Heinrich, when the Court was making a round of the bazaar, had stopped

before Miss Spoelmann's stall, how he had bought a piece or two of fancy

glass (for Miss Spoelmann was selling porcelain and glass), and had

lingered a good eight or ten minutes at her stall. It said nothing about

the topic of the conversation. And yet it had not been without

importance.

The Court (with the exception of Albrecht) had appeared in the Town Hall

about noon. When Klaus Heinrich, with his newly bought pieces of glass

in tissue paper on his knee, drove back to the "Hermitage," he had

announced his intention of visiting Delphinenort and inspecting the

Schloss in its renovated state, on the same occasion viewing Mr.

Spoelmann's collection of glass. For three or four old pieces of glass

had been included in Miss Spoelmann's stock which her father himself had

given to the bazaar out of his collection, and one of them Klaus

Heinrich had bought.

He saw himself again in a semicircle of people, stared at, alone, in

front of Miss Spoelmann, and separated from her by the stall-counter,

with its vases, jugs, its white and coloured groups of porcelain. He saw

her in her red fancy dress, which, made in one piece, clung close to her

neat though childish figure, while it exposed dark shoulders and arms,

which were round and firm and yet like those of a child just by the

wrist. He saw the gold ornament, half garland and half diadem, in the

jet of her billowy hair, that showed a tendency to fall in smooth wisps

on her forehead, her big, black, inquiring eyes in the pearly-white

face, her full and tender mouth, pouting with habitual scorn when she

spoke--and round about her in the great vaulted hall had been the scent

of firs and a babel of noise, music, the clash of gongs, laughter, and

the cries of sellers.

He had admired the piece of glass, the fine old beaker with its ornament

of silver foliage, which she proffered to him, and she had said that it

came from her father's collection. "Has your father, then, got many fine

pieces like this?"--Of course. And presumably her father had not given

the best items to the bazaar. She could guarantee that he had much finer

pieces of glass. Klaus Heinrich would very much like to see them! Well,

that might easily be managed, Miss Spoelmann had answered in her broken

voice, while she pouted and wagged her head slightly from side to side.

Her father, she meant, would certainly have no objection to showing the

fruits of his zeal as a collector to one more of a long succession of

intelligent visitors. The Spoelmanns were always at home at tea-time.

She had gone straight to the point, taking the hint for a definite

offer, and speaking in an entirely off-hand way. In conclusion, to Klaus

Heinrich's question, what day would suit best, she had answered:

"Whichever you like, Prince, we shall be inexpressibly delighted."

"We shall be inexpressibly delighted"--those were her words, so mocking

and pointed in the exaggeration that they almost hurt, and were

difficult to listen to without wincing. How she had rattled and hurt the

poor sister in the Hospital the other day! But all through there was

something childish in her manner of speech; indeed, some sounds she made

were just like those children make--not only on the occasion when she

was comforting the little girl about the inhaler. And how large her eyes

had seemed when they told her about the children's fathers and the rest

of the sad story!

Next day Klaus Heinrich went to tea at Schloss Delphinenort, the very

next. Miss Spoelmann had said he might come when it suited him. But it

suited him the very next day, and as the matter seemed to him urgent, he

saw no point in putting it off.

Shortly before five o'clock--it was already dark--he drove over the

smooth roads of the Town Garden--bare and empty, for this part of it

belonged to Mr. Spoelmann. Arc-lamps lit up the park, the big square

spa-basin shimmered between the trees; behind it rose the white Schloss

with its pillared porch, its spacious double staircase which led by

gentle degrees between the wings up to the first floor, its high leaded

windows, its Roman busts in the niches--and Klaus Heinrich, as he drove

along the approach avenue of mighty chestnuts, saw the red-plush negro

with his staff standing on guard at the foot of the staircase.

Klaus Heinrich crossed a brightly lighted stone hall, with a floor of

gilt mosaic and with white statues of gods round it, passed straight

over to the broad red-carpeted marble staircase, down which the

Spoelmanns' major-domo, clean shaven, with shoulders squared and arms

stiff, pot-bellied and haughty, advanced to receive the guest. He

escorted him up into the tapestried and marble-chimneyed ante-room,

where a couple of white-and-gold swan's-down footmen took the Prince's

cap and cloak, while the steward went in person to announce him to his

master.... The footman held aside one of the tapestries for Klaus

Heinrich, who descended two or three steps.

The scent of flowers met him, and he heard the soft splash of falling

water; but just as the tapestry closed behind him, so wild and harsh a

barking was heard that Klaus Heinrich, half deafened for a moment,

stopped at the foot of the steps. Percival, the collie, had dashed at

him in a fury. He pranced, he capered in uncontrollable passion, he

pirouetted, beat his sides with his tail, planted his forefeet on the

floor, and turned wildly round and round, and seemed like to burst with

noise. A voice--not Imma's--called him off, and Klaus Heinrich found

himself in a winter garden, a glass conservatory with white marble

columns and a floor of big square marble flags. Palms of all kinds

filled it, whose trunks and tops often reached close up to the glass

ceiling. A flower-bed, consisting of countless pots arranged like the

stones of a mosaic, lay in the strong moonlight of the arc-lamp and

filled the air with its scent. Out of a beautifully carved fountain,

silver streams flowed into a marble pool, and ducks with strange and

fantastic plumage swam about on the illuminated water. The background

was filled by a stone walk with columns and niches.

It was Countess Löwenjoul who advanced towards the guest, and curtseyed

with a smile.

"Your Royal Highness will not mind," she said, "our Percy is so

uproarious. Besides, he's so unaccustomed to visitors. But he never

touches anybody. Your Royal Highness must excuse Miss Spoelmann....

She'll be back soon. She was here just now. She was called away, her

father sent for her. Mr. Spoelmann will be delighted...."

And she conducted Klaus Heinrich to an arrangement of basket chairs with

embroidered linen cushions which stood in front of a group of palms. She

spoke in a brisk and emphatic tone, with her little head with its thin

iron-grey hair bent on one side and her white teeth showing as she

laughed. Her figure was distinctly graceful in the close-fitting brown

dress she was wearing, and she moved as freshly and elegantly as an

officer's wife. Only in her eyes, whose lids she kept blinking, there

was something of mistrust or spite, something unintelligible. They sat

down facing each other at the round garden-table, on which lay a few

books. Percival, exhausted by his outburst, curled himself up on the

narrow pearl-grey carpet on which the furniture stood. His black coat

was like silk, with white paws, chest, and muzzle. He had a white

collar, yellow eyes, and a parting along his back. Klaus Heinrich began

a conversation for conversation's sake, a formal dialogue about nothing

in particular, which was all he could do.

"I hope, Countess, that I have not come at an inconvenient time. Luckily

I need not feel myself an unauthorized intruder. I do not know whether

Miss Spoelmann has told you.... She was so kind as to suggest my

calling. It was about those lovely pieces of glass which Mr. Spoelmann

so generously gave to yesterday's bazaar. Miss Spoelmann thought that

her father would have no objection to letting me see the rest of his

collection. That's why I'm here ..."

The Countess ignored the question whether Imma had told her of the

arrangement. She said: "This is tea-time, Royal Highness. Of course your

visit is not inconvenient. Even if, as I hope will not be the case, Mr.

Spoelmann were too unwell to appear...."

"Oh, is he ill?" In reality Klaus Heinrich wished just a little that Mr.

Spoelmann might be too unwell. He anticipated his meeting with him with

vague anxiety.

"He was feeling ill to-day, Royal Highness. He had a touch of fever,

shivering, and a little faintness. Dr. Watercloose was with him for a

long time this morning. He was given an injection of morphia. There's

some question of an operation being necessary."

"I am very sorry," said Klaus Heinrich quite honestly. "An operation?

How dreadful!"

To which the Countess answered, letting her eyes wander: "Oh yes. But

there are worse things in life--many much worse things than that."

"Undoubtedly," said Klaus Heinrich. "I can quite believe it." He felt

his imagination stirred in a vague and general way by the Countess's

allusion.

She looked at him with her head inclined to one side, and an expression

of contempt on her face. Then her slightly distended grey eyes shifted,

while she smiled the mysterious smile which Klaus Heinrich already knew

and which had something seductive about it.

He felt it was necessary to resume the conversation.

"Have you lived long with the Spoelmanns, Countess?" he asked.

"A fairly long time," she answered, and appeared to calculate. "Fairly

long. I have lived through so much, have had so many experiences, that I

naturally cannot reckon to a day. But it was shortly after the

blessing--soon after the blessing was vouchsafed to me."

"The blessing?" asked Klaus Heinrich.

"Of course," she said decidedly with some agitation. "For the blessing

happened to me when the number of my experiences had become too great,

and the bow had reached breaking point, to use a metaphor. You are so

young," she continued, forgetting to address him by his title, "so

ignorant of all that makes the world so miserable and so depraved, that

you can form no conception of what I have had to suffer. I brought an

action in America which involved the appearance of several generals.

Things came to light which were more than my temper could stand. I had

to clear out several barracks without succeeding in bringing to light

every loose woman. They hid themselves in the cupboards, some even under

the floors, and that's why they continue torturing me beyond measure at

nights. I should at once go back to my Schloss in Burgundy if the rain

did not come through the roofs. The Spoelmanns knew that, and that is

why it was so obliging of them to let me live with them indefinitely, my

only duty being to put the innocent Imma on her guard against the world.

Only of course my health suffers from my having the women sitting at

nights on my chest and forcing me to look at their disgusting faces. And

that is why I ask you to call me simply Frau Meier," she said in a

whisper, leaning forward and touching Klaus Heinrich's arm with her

hand. "The walls have ears, and it is absolutely necessary for me to

keep up the incognito I was forced to assume in order to protect myself

against the persecution of the odious creatures. You will do what I ask,

will you not? Look on it as a joke ... a fad which hurts nobody.... Why

not?"

She stopped.

Klaus Heinrich sat upright and braced up in his wicker chair opposite

her and looked at her. Before leaving his rectilineal room, he had

dressed himself with his valet Neumann's help with all possible care, as

his life in the public eye required. His parting ran from over his left

eye, straight up to the crown of his head, without a hair sticking up,

and his hair was brushed up into a crest off the right side of his

forehead. There he sat in his undress uniform, whose high collar and

close fit helped him to maintain a composed attitude, the silver

epaulettes of a major on his narrow shoulders, leaning slightly but not

comfortably forward, collected, calm, with one foot slightly advanced,

and with his right hand above his left on his sword-hilt. His young face

looked slightly weary from the unreality, the loneliness, strictness,

and difficulty of his life; he sat looking at the Countess with a

friendly, clear, but composed expression in his eyes.

She stopped. Disenchantment and disgust showed themselves in her

features, and, while something like hate towards Klaus Heinrich flamed

up in her tired grey eyes, she blushed in the strangest of ways, for one

half of her face turned red, the other white. Dropping her eyelids she

answered: "I have been living with the Spoelmanns for three years, Royal

Highness."

Percival darted forward. Dancing, springing, and wagging his tail he

trotted towards his mistress--for Imma Spoelmann had come in--raised

himself in a dignified way on his hind legs and laid his fore paws in

greeting on her breast. His jaws were wide open, and his red tongue hung

out between his ivory-white teeth. He looked like a heraldic supporter

as he stood there before her.

She wore a wonderful dress of brick-red silk with loose hanging sleeves,

and the breast covered with heavy gold embroidery. A big egg-shaped

jewel on a pearl necklace lay on her bare neck, the skin of which was

the colour of smoked meerschaum. Her blue-black hair was parted on one

side and coiled, though a few smooth wisps tended to fall on her

forehead. Holding Percival's head in her two narrow, ringless little

hands, she looked into his face, saying, "Well, well, my friend. What a

welcome! We are glad to see each other--we hated being parted, didn't

we? Now go back and lie down." And she put his paws off the gold

embroidery on her breast, and set him on his four paws again.

"Oh, Prince," she said. "Welcome to Delphinenort. You hate breaking your

promise, I can see. I'm coming to sit next you. They'll tell us when tea

is ready.... It's against all the rules, I know, for me to have kept you

waiting. But my father sent for me--and besides you had somebody to

entertain you." Her bright eyes passed from Klaus Heinrich to the

Countess and back in a rather hesitating way.

"That's quite true," he said. And then he asked how Mr. Spoelmann was,

and received a fairly reassuring answer. Mr. Spoelmann would have the

pleasure of making Klaus Heinrich's acquaintance at tea-time, he begged

to be excused till then.... What a lovely pair of horses Klaus Heinrich

had in his brougham! And then they talked about their horses, about

Klaus Heinrich's good-tempered brown Florian from the Hollerbrunn stud,

about Miss Spoelmann's Arabian cream, the mare Fatma which had been

given to Mr. Spoelmann by an oriental prince, about her fast Hungarian

chestnuts, which she drove four-in-hand.

"Do you know the country round?" asked Klaus Heinrich. "Have you hunted

with the Royal pack? Have you been to the 'Pheasantry'? There are lots

of lovely excursions."

No, Miss Spoelmann was not at all clever in finding out new roads, and

the Countess--well, her whole nature was unenterprising, so they always

chose the same road, in the Town Gardens, for their ride. It was boring,

perhaps, but Miss Spoelmann was not on the whole so blasé as to need

constant change and adventures. Then he said that they must go together

some time to a meet of the hounds or to the "Pheasantry," whereupon she

pursed her lips and said that that was an idea which might be discussed

some time in the future. Then the major-domo came in and gravely

announced that tea was ready.

They went through the tapestry hall with the marble fireplace, conducted

by the strutting butler, accompanied by the dancing Percy, and followed

by Countess Löwenjoul.

"Has the Countess been letting her tongue run away with her?" asked Imma

_en route_, without any particular lowering of her voice.

Klaus Heinrich started and looked at the floor. "But she can hear us!"

he said softly.

"No, she doesn't hear us," answered Imma. "I can read her face. When she

holds her head crooked like that and blinks her eyes it means that she

is wandering and deep in her thoughts. Did she let her tongue run away

with her?"

"For a minute or two," said Klaus Heinrich. "I got the impression that

the Countess 'let herself go' every now and then."

"She has had a lot of trouble." And Imma looked at him with the same big

searching dark eyes with which she had scanned him in the Dorothea

Hospital. "I'll tell you all about it another time. It's a long story."

"Yes," he said. "Some other time. Next time. On our ride perhaps."

"On our ride?"

"Yes, on our ride to the meet, or to the 'Pheasantry.'"

"Oh, I forgot your preciseness, Prince, in the matter of appointments.

Very well, on our ride. We go down here."

They found themselves at the back of the Schloss. Carpeted steps led

from a gallery hung with big pictures, down into the white-and-gold

garden room, behind the glass door of which lay the terrace.

Everything--the big crystal lustres, which hung from the centre of the

high, white-festooned ceiling, the regularly arranged arm-chairs with

gilt frames and fancy upholstering, the heavy white silk curtains, the

elaborate clock and the vases and gilt lamps on the white marble

chimneypiece in front of the tall looking-glass, the massive,

lion-footed gilt candelabra which towered on either side of the

entrance--everything reminded Klaus Heinrich of the Old Schloss, of the

Representation Chamber, in which he had played his part from his youth

up; only that the candles here were shams, with yellow electric bulbs

instead of wicks, and that everything of the Spoelmanns' was new and

smart in Schloss Delphinenort. A swan's-down footman was putting the

last touch to the tea-table in a corner of the room; Klaus Heinrich

noticed the electric kettle about which he had read in the _Courier_.

"Has Mr. Spoelmann been told?" asked the daughter of the house.... The

butler bowed. "Then there's nothing," she said quickly and half

mockingly, "to prevent us from taking our places and beginning without

him. Come, Countess! I advise you, Prince, to unbuckle your sword,

unless there are reasons unknown to me for your not doing so...."

"Thanks," said Klaus Heinrich, "no, there is no reason why I shouldn't."

And he was angry with himself for not being smart enough to think of a

He had started steel works, had floated companies for the turning of