Mr. Carson ran ahead to the seat of the explosion. The Princess—evidently
on purpose—behind. Prokop thought that she had something to say to him,
but she only pointed with her finger at his face. Prokop quickly felt his
face; on it he found the bloody traces of her teeth, and, picking up a
handful of soil, rubbed it over the marks, as if he had been struck by a
clod at the explosion.
The hole in which the powder had been placed had become a crater about
fifteen feet across. It was difficult to calculate the power of the
explosion, but Carson estimated it at five times that of oxy-liquid.
“Fine stuff,” he said, “but a bit too strong for ordinary usage.” Mr.
Carson took the whole conversation in hand, slipping adroitly over
its serious gaps. When on the way back he took leave of them with an
affability that was somewhat too evident, saying that he had this and
that to do, Prokop became conscious of an oppressive weight. What was he
to talk about now? For some curious reason he had the impression that he
must not refer in any way to the dark and mysterious happening which took
place at the same time as the explosion when “the heavens were cleft by
a fiery power.” He entertained a bitter and unpleasant feeling that the
Princess had coldly dismissed him like a lackey with whom—with whom——
He clenched his fists in his disgust, and began to mumble something of
secondary interest about the horses; the words stuck in his throat,
and the Princess accelerated her step noticeably, evidently wishing to
get back to the castle as soon as possible. Prokop limped heavily, but
did not let her see that he was doing so. Having reached the park, he
wished to take leave of her, but the Princess turned down a side path. He
followed her irresolutely; then she drew close to his shoulder, turned
back her head and placed her thirsty lips on his own.
The Princess’s chow, Toy, scented the approach of his mistress, and,
whining with delight, rushed towards her across the lawn. And here he
was! But what was this? He stopped. The Big Unfriendly Person was shaking
her, they were biting one another, swaying in a silent and desperate
struggle. Oho! his Lady was beaten, her arms sank, and she lay moaning in
the arms of the Big Person; now he was crushing her. And Toy began to cry
“Help! help!” in his dog’s language.
The Princess tore herself out of Prokop’s arms. “Even the dog, even the
dog,” she smiled nervously. “Let’s go!” Prokop’s head was spinning; it
was only with the greatest difficulty that he could make a few steps.
The Princess hung on to him (Insanity! Supposing somebody....), drawing
him along, but her legs suddenly failed her; she gripped his arm with
her fingers, as if she wished to tear it or something of the sort, drew
in her breath sharply, knitted her brows, and a dark light came into her
eyes. Then with a hoarse sob, seeking his lips, she flung her arms round
his neck, so that he staggered. Prokop crushed her in his arms; a long
breathless embrace, and her body, stretched taut like a bow, collapsed
softly and helplessly against him. She lay on his breast with closed
eyes. Sweet and meaningless phrases came from her lips; she allowed her
face, neck and hair to be covered with his violent kisses, moving her
head as if she were intoxicated and did not know what she was doing.
Submissive, half swooning, utterly tender; perhaps happy at this moment
with an inexpressible happiness. O God, what a trembling and lovely smile
there was on her lips!
Suddenly she opened her eyes widely and slipped out of his embrace. They
were two yards away from the main avenue. She passed her hands over her
face, like a person awakening from a dream, moved away, and leaned her
forehead against the trunk of an oak. Scarcely had Prokop released her
from his rough hands than his heart began to beat violently with emotion,
with an emotion of shame and degradation. Christ! for her he was only a
servant whom she used to excite her emotions when she had nothing better
to do, when she was unable to bear her solitude, or something of the
sort. Now she had kicked him away, like a dog, so that ... she could do
the same thing again with somebody else. He went up to her and put his
hand firmly on her shoulder. She turned round gently with a shy, almost
frightened and humiliated smile. “No, no,” she whispered, twisting her
fingers. “Please, not——”
Prokop’s heart swelled with a sudden wave of tenderness. “When shall I
see you again?” he asked.
“To-morrow, to-morrow,” she murmured anxiously, and turned back towards
the castle. “I must go. Now I can’t——”
“When to-morrow?” insisted Prokop.
“To-morrow,” she repeated nervously, drew her cloak more closely round
her shivering body, and hurried off, Prokop at her side. In front of the
castle she held out her hand to him. “_Au revoir._”
Her fingers were still twisting feverishly; he would have drawn her again
towards him. “You mustn’t, you mustn’t,” she whispered, and left him with
a last burning kiss.
* * * * *
No greater damage than this was done by the explosion of Vicit. A few
chimneys were knocked over on the adjacent barracks, and the rush of air
burst a number of windows. The large windows in Prince Hagen’s room were
also broken. The crippled old gentleman had with great difficulty risen
to his feet, and stood like a soldier waiting for a further catastrophe.
* * * * *
The company in the castle were sitting over their coffee one evening when
Prokop entered, his eyes searching for the Princess. He was unable to
bear the devouring torture of uncertainty. The Princess turned pale, but
the jovial Uncle Rohn at once grasped Prokop’s hand and congratulated
him on his magnificent achievement, etc., etc. Even the haughty Suwalski
inquired with interest whether it was true that the gentleman was able
to turn every substance into an explosive. “Take sugar, for instance,”
he said, and was simply astounded when Prokop grunted something to the
effect that sugar had been used as an explosive even during the Great
War. For some time Prokop was the centre of interest; but he stammered,
and, although he answered all the questions that were put to him, was
chiefly occupied in trying to ascertain the meaning of the provocative
glances of the Princess. His bloodshot eyes were fixed on her with
terrible attention. The Princess was as if on thorns.
Then the conversation changed, and Prokop had the impression that nobody
any longer took any interest in him. These people understood one another
so well, conversed so easily, and touched lightly and with enormous
interest on things which he simply did not understand or had never even
heard of. Even the Princess became quite animated; there you are, you
see, she had a thousand times as much in common with these gentlemen as
she had with him! His brow darkened, he did not know what to do with
his hands, a blind anger began to rage within him. Then he put down his
coffee cup so violently that it cracked.
The Princess turned horrified eyes on him, but the charming _Oncle
Charles_ saved the situation by telling a story about a sea captain
who was able to crush a beer bottle in his fingers. Some fat person, a
cousin of sorts, asserted that he could do the same thing. Thereupon they
ordered a bottle to be brought in, and one after the other attempted to
smash it in this manner. The bottle was a heavy one of black glass, and
no one was able to break it.
“Now you,” ordered the Princess, with a quick glance at Prokop.
“I shan’t be able to,” muttered Prokop, but the Princess drew up her
eyebrows in such a commanding way that Prokop got up and seized the
bottle by its neck. He stood motionless, did not, like the others,
contort himself with the effort which he was making, but the muscles
in his face stood out as if they were going to burst. He looked like
a primitive man who was preparing to kill somebody with a club. His
lips were twisted with the strain, his face as it were intersected with
powerful muscles, his shoulders loose, as if he were defending himself
with the bottle against the attack of a gorilla, and he turned his
bloodshot eyes on the Princess. There was a silence. The Princess got up
with her eyes fixed upon him. Her lips were drawn back over her clenched
teeth, and the tendons stood out on her swarthy face. Her eyebrows were
drawn and she breathed quickly, as if she, too, were making a terrible
physical effort. They stood opposite one another in this manner, their
faces contorted, looking into one another’s eyes like two desperate
opponents. Convulsive tremors ran through their bodies from head to heel.
No one breathed; nothing was to be heard but the hoarse panting of these
two. Then there was a crunching sound, the jingle of breaking glass, and
the bottom of the bottle fell with a crash on to the floor.
The first to recover himself was _Mon Oncle Charles_, who paced up and
down for a moment and then rushed up to the Princess. “Minnie,” he
whispered rapidly, and lowered her, almost fainting, into an arm-chair.
Kneeling in front of her, by exerting all his strength he opened her
convulsively clenched fists; her palms were covered with blood, so deeply
had she driven the nails into the flesh. “Take that bottle out of his
hand,” ordered _le bon Prince_, and drew back one of the Princess’s
fingers after the other.
“Bravo!” cried Prince Suwalski and began to applaud loudly. Meanwhile Von
Graun had seized Prokop’s right hand, which was still grasping fragments
of the bottle, and forced open his fingers. “Water,” he cried, and the
fat cousin, agitatedly looking round, grasped a table cover, soaked it in
water and put it on Prokop’s forehead.
“Ahahah!” cried Prokop with relief. The attack was over but his head was
still swirling from the sudden flow of blood and his knees trembled with
weakness.
_Oncle Charles_ was massaging on his knees the twisted, quivering fingers
of the Princess. “Games of this sort are dangerous,” he muttered, while
the Princess, completely exhausted, was hardly able to draw her breath.
But on her lips there trembled a wry but victorious smile. “You helped
him,” said the fat cousin, “that’s what it was.”
The Princess stood up, hardly able to move her legs. “The gentlemen will
excuse me,” she said weakly, giving Prokop such a burning glance with
her eyes that he grew terrified lest the others should notice it. She
left the room on the arm of Uncle Rohn. It was now necessary to celebrate
Prokop’s feat somehow or other. The company was a good-natured one,
consisting largely of young men who were only too ready to show their
appreciation of such a heroic deed. Prokop rose enormously in their
estimation through the fact that he had broken the bottle and afterwards
demonstrated his ability to consume an incredible quantity of wine and
liqueurs without finding himself under the table. By three o’clock in the
morning Prince Suwalski was triumphantly kissing him, and the fat cousin,
almost with tears in his eyes, was addressing him familiarly in the
second person singular. Then they began jumping over chairs and kicking
up a frightful row. Prokop smiled at everyone and his head was in the
clouds. But when they tried to take him off to the only _fille de joie_
to be found in Balttin, he broke free of them, announced that they were
drunken cattle and that he was off to bed.
But instead of executing this sensible project he wandered into the dark
park and for a long time examined the front of the castle, looking for
a certain window. Mr. Holz stood dreaming fifteen yards away, leaning
against a tree.