Chapter IX: Part 9

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 more adroit answer.

The footman took his sword, and carried it off. They took their seats at the tea-table with the help of the butler, who held the backs and pushed the chairs under them. Then he retired to the top of the steps, where he remained in an elegant attitude.

"I must tell you, Prince," said Miss Spoelmann, pouring the water into the pot, "that my father won't drink any tea which I have not made with my own hands. He distrusts all tea which is handed round ready-made in cups. That is barred with us. You'll have to put up with it."

"Oh, I like it much better like this," said Klaus Heinrich, "it's much more comfortable and free-and-easy at a family tea like this...." He broke off, and wondered why as he spoke these words a side-glance of hatred lighted on him from the eyes of Countess Löwenjoul. "And your course of study?" he asked. "May I ask about it? It's mathematics, I know. Don't you find it too much? Isn't it terribly brain-racking?"

"Absolutely not," she said. "It's just splendid; it's like playing in the breezes, so to speak, or rather out of the breezes, in a dust-free atmosphere. It's as cool there as in the Adirondacks."

"The what?"

"The Adirondacks. That's geography, Prince. Mountains over in the States, with lovely snowfields. We have a country cottage there, where we go in May. In summer we used to go to the sea-side."

"At any rate," he said, "I can testify to your zeal in your studies. You do not like being prevented from arriving punctually at your lectures. I haven't yet asked you whether you reached that one the other day up to time."

"The other day?"

"Yes, a week or two ago. After the contretemps with the change of guard."

"Dear, dear, Prince, now you are beginning that too. That story seems to have reached from hut to palace. Had I known what a bother was going to come of it, I would rather have gone three times round the whole Schlossplatz. It even got into the newspapers, I'm told. And now of course the whole town thinks I am a regular fiend for temper and rudeness. But I am the most peaceful creature in the world, and only don't like being ordered about. Am I a fiend, Countess? I demand a truthful answer."

"No, you're an angel," said Countess Löwenjoul.

"H'm--angel, that's too much, that's too far the other way, Countess...."

"No," said Klaus Heinrich, "no, not too far. I entirely believe the Countess...."

"I'm much honoured. But how did your Highness hear about the adventure? Through the newspapers?"

"I was an eye-witness of it," said Klaus Heinrich.

"An eye-witness?"

"Yes. I happened to be standing at the window of the officers' mess, and saw the whole thing from beginning to end."

Miss Spoelmann blushed. There was no doubt about it, the pale skin of her face deepened in colour.

"Well, Prince," she said, "I assume that you had nothing better to do at the moment."

"Better?" he cried. "But it was a splendid sight. I give you my word that never in my life ..."

Percival, who was lying with his forepaws crossed, by Miss Spoelmann, raised his head with a look of tense expectancy and beat the carpet with his tail. At the same moment the butler began to run, as fast as his ponderous frame would let him, down the steps to the lofty side-door over against the tea-table, and swiftly pulled aside the whole silk portière, sticking his double chin the while into the air with a majestic expression. Samuel Spoelmann, the millionaire, walked in.

He was a man of neat build with a strange face. He was clean shaven, with red cheeks and a prominent nose, his little eyes were of a metallic blue-black, like those of little children and animals, and had an absent and peevish look. The upper part of his head was bald, but behind and on his temples Mr. Spoelmann had a quantity of grey hair, dressed in a fashion not often seen among us. He wore it neither short nor long, but brushed up, sticking out, though cropped on the nape and round his ears. His mouth was small and finely chiselled. Dressed in a black frock-coat with a velvet waistcoat on which lay a long, thin, old-fashioned watch-chain, and soft slippers on his feet, he advanced quickly to the tea-table with a cross and pre-occupied expression on his face; but his face cleared up, it regained composure and tenderness when he caught sight of his daughter. Imma had gone to meet him.

"Greeting, most excellent father," she said, and throwing her brown little arms, in their loose brick-coloured hanging sleeves, round his neck, she kissed him on the bald spot which he offered her as he inclined his head.

"Of course you knew," she continued, "that Prince Klaus Heinrich was coming to tea with us to-day?"

"No; I'm delighted, delighted," said Mr. Spoelmann no less readily and in a grating voice. "Please don't move!" he said at once. And while he shook hands (Mr. Spoelmann's hand was thin and half-covered by his unstarched white cuff) with the Prince, who was standing modestly by the table, he nodded repeatedly to one side or the other. That was his way of greeting Klaus Heinrich. He was an alien, an invalid, and a man apart as regards wealth. He was forgiven and nothing further was expected of him--Klaus Heinrich recognized the fact, and took pains to recover his self-control.

"You are at home here in a sense," added Mr. Spoelmann, cutting the conversation short, and a passing gleam of malice played round his clean-shaven mouth. Then he gave the others an example by sitting down. It was the chair between Imma and Klaus Heinrich, opposite the Countess and the veranda door, which the butler pushed under him.

As Mr. Spoelmann showed no intention of apologizing for his unpunctuality, Klaus Heinrich said: "I am sorry to hear that you are unwell this morning, Mr. Spoelmann. I hope you are better."

"Thanks, better, not but all right," answered Mr. Spoelmann crossly. "How many spoonfuls did you put in?" he asked his daughter. He was alluding to the tea.

She had filled his cup, and she handed it to him.

"Four," said she. "One for each person. Nobody shall say that I stint my grey-haired father."

"What's that?" answered Mr. Spoelmann. "I'm not grey-haired. You ought to have your tongue clipped." And he took from a silver box a kind of rusk which seemed to be his own special dainty, broke it and dipped it peevishly in the golden tea, which he, like his daughter, drank without milk or sugar.

Klaus Heinrich began over again: "I am much excited at the prospect of seeing your collection, Mr. Spoelmann."

"All right," answered Mr. Spoelmann. "So you want to see my glass? Are you an amateur? A collector perhaps?"

"No," said Klaus Heinrich, "my love for glass has not extended to my becoming a collector."

"No time?" asked Mr. Spoelmann. "Do your military duties take so much time?"

Klaus Heinrich answered: "I'm no longer on the active list, Mr. Spoelmann. I am _à la suite_ of my regiment. I wear the uniform, that's all."

"I see, make believe," said Mr. Spoelmann harshly. "What do you do all day, then?"

Klaus Heinrich had stopped drinking tea, had pushed his things away in the course of the conversation which demanded his undivided attention. He sat upright and defended himself, feeling the while that Imma Spoelmann's big, black, searching eyes were resting on him.

"I have duties at Court, with the ceremonies and big occasions. I have also to represent the State in a military capacity, at the swearing-in of recruits and the presentation of colours. Then I have to hold levées as deputy for my brother, the Grand Duke. And then there are little journeys on duty to the provincial centres for unveilings and dedications and other public solemnities."

"I see," said Mr. Spoelmann. "Ceremonies, solemnities, food for spectators. No, that sort of thing's beyond me. I tell you once for all, that I wouldn't give a farthing for your calling. That's my standpoint, sir."

"I entirely understand," said Klaus Heinrich. He sat up stiffly in his uniform and smiled uneasily.

"Of course it needs practice like everything else," Mr. Spoelmann went on in a little less bitter tone of voice--"practice and training, I can see. For myself I shall never as long as I live cease feeling angry when I am obliged to play the prodigy."

"I only hope," said Klaus Heinrich, "that our people are not wanting in respect...."

"Thanks, not so bad," answered Mr. Spoelmann. "The people are at least friendly here; one doesn't see murder written in their eyes."

"I hope, Mr. Spoelmann," and Klaus Heinrich felt more at his ease, now that the conversation had turned, and the questioning lay with him, "that, notwithstanding the unusual circumstances, you continue to enjoy your stay amongst us."

"Thanks," said Mr. Spoelmann, "I'm quite comfortable, and the water is the only thing which really does do me some good."

"You did not find it a wrench to leave America?"

Klaus Heinrich felt a look, a quick, suspicious, shy look, which he could not interpret.

"No," said Mr. Spoelmann, sharply and crossly. That was all his answer to the question whether he felt it a wrench to leave America.

A pause ensued. Countess Löwenjoul held her smooth little head inclined to one side, and smiled a distant Madonna-like smile. Miss Spoelmann watched Klaus Heinrich fixedly with her big black eyes, as if testing the effect of her father's extraordinary boorishness on the guest,--indeed, Klaus Heinrich felt that she was waiting with resignation and sympathy for him to get up and take his departure for good and all. He met her eyes, and remained. Mr. Spoelmann, for his part, drew out a gold case and took out a fat cigarette, which, when lighted, diffused a delicious fragrance.

"Smoke?" he asked.... And as Klaus Heinrich found that there was no objection, he helped himself, after Mr. Spoelmann, out of the proffered case.

They then discussed various topics before proceeding to an inspection of the glass--chiefly Klaus Heinrich and Miss Spoelmann, for the Countess's thoughts were wandering, and Mr. Spoelmann only interpolated a cross remark now and then: the local theatre, the huge ship in which the Spoelmanns had crossed to Europe. No, they had not used their yacht for the purpose. Its primary object was to take Mr. Spoelmann to sea in the evening in the heat of summer, when he was tied to his business and Imma and the Countess were in Newport; he used to pass the night on deck. She was now lying at Venice. But they had crossed in a huge steamer, a floating hotel with concert rooms and gymnasia. "She had five storeys," said Miss Spoelmann.

"Counting from below?" asked Klaus Heinrich. And she answered at once:

"Of course. Six, counting from above."

He got muddled and lost his bearings and it was a long time before he realized that she was making fun of him. Then he tried to explain himself and to make his simple question clear, explaining that he meant to ask whether she included the under-water holds, the cellars so to speak, in the five--in short, to prove that he was not lacking in common sense, and at last he joined heartily in the merriment which was the result of his efforts. As for the Court Theatre, Miss Spoelmann gave it as her opinion, with a pout and a wag of the head, that the actress who played the _ingénue_ should be strongly recommended to go through the cure at Marienbad, coupled with a course of lessons in dancing and deportment, while the hero should be warned that a voice as resonant as his should be used most sparingly, even in private life.... All the same, Miss Spoelmann expressed her warm admiration for the theatre in question.

Klaus Heinrich laughed and wondered, a little oppressed by so much smartness. How well she spoke, how pointed and incisive were her words! They discussed the operas also and the plays which had been produced during the winter, and Imma Spoelmann contradicted Klaus Heinrich's judgments, contradicted him in every case, just as if she thought that not to contradict would show a mean spirit; the superior wit of her tongue left him dazed, and the great black eyes in her pearl-white face glittered from sheer joy in her dialectic skill, while Mr. Spoelmann leaned back in his chair, holding the fat cigarette between his lips and blinking through its smoke, and gazed at his daughter with fond satisfaction.

More than once Klaus Heinrich showed in his face the look of pained bewilderment which he had noticed on a previous occasion on the face of the good sister, and yet he felt convinced that it was not Imma Spoelmann's intention to wound his feelings, that she did not consider him humbled because he was not successful in standing up to her, that she rather let his poor answers pass, as if she considered that he had no need of a sharp wit to defend him--it was only she who had. But how was that, and why? He thought involuntarily of Ueberbein at many of her sallies, of the nimble-tongued blusterer Ueberbein, who was a natural misfortune, and had grown up in conditions which he described as favourable. A youth of misery, loneliness, and misfortune, shut out from the blessings of fortune--such a man knew no luxury, no comfort, he saw himself clearly and cruelly thrown on his own resources, which assuredly gave him an advantage over those who "knew not necessity."

But Imma Spoelmann sat there in her red-gold dress at the table, reclining indolently, with the mocking look of a spoiled child; there she sat in confident ease, while her tongue ran on sharply and freely, as befitted an atmosphere of refinement and lively wit. But why did she give it play? Klaus Heinrich pondered the question, the while they discussed Atlantic steamers and plays. He sat bolt upright at the table, in a dignified and uncomfortable attitude, while he concealed his left hand, and more than once he felt a sidelong glance of hatred from the eyes of Countess Löwenjoul.

A servant came in and handed Mr. Spoelmann a telegram on a silver salver. Mr. Spoelmann tore it open crossly, glanced through it, blinking and with the remains of his cigarette in the corner of his mouth, and threw it back on the salver, with the curt order: "Mr. Phlebs." Thereupon he lighted a new cigarette.

Miss Spoelmann said: "In spite of distinct medical orders, that's the fifth cigarette you've had to-day. Let me tell you that the unbridled passion with which you abandon yourself to the vice little beseems your grey hairs."

Mr. Spoelmann obviously tried to laugh, and as obviously failed; the acid tone of his daughter's words was not to his liking, and he flushed up.

"Silence!" he snarled. "You think you can say anything in fun, but please spare me your saucy jokes, chatterbox!"

Klaus Heinrich, appalled, looked at Imma, who turned her big eyes on her father's angry face, and then sadly dropped her head. Of course she had not meant any offence, she had simply amused herself with the strange, swelling words which she used to poke her fun; she had expected to raise a laugh, and had failed dismally.

"Father, darling father!" she said beseechingly, and crossed over to stroke Mr. Spoelmann's flushed cheeks.

"Surely," he grumbled on, "you've grown out of that sort of thing by now." But then he yielded to her blandishments, let her kiss the top of his head, and swallowed his anger. Klaus Heinrich, when peace was restored, alluded to the collection of glass, whereupon the party left the tea-table and went into the adjoining museum, with the exception of Countess Löwenjoul, who withdrew with a deep curtsey. Mr. Spoelmann himself switched on the electric light in the chandeliers.

Handsome cabinets in the style of the whole Schloss, with swelling curves and rounded glass doors, alternated with rich silk chairs all round the room. In these cabinets Mr. Spoelmann's collection of glass was displayed. Yes, there could be no doubt that it was the most complete collection in either hemisphere, and the glass which Klaus Heinrich had acquired was merely a most modest sample of it. It began in one corner of the room with the earliest artistic productions of the industry, with finds of heathenish designs from the culture of the earliest times; then came the products of the East and West of every epoch; next, wreathed, flourished, and imposing vases and beakers from Venetian blow-pipes and costly pieces from Bohemian huts, German tankards, picturesque Guild and Electorate bowls, mixed with grotesque animals and comic figures, huge crystal cups, which reminded one of the Luck of Edenhall in the song, and in whose facets the light broke and sparkled; ruby-coloured glasses like the Holy Grail; and finally the best samples of the latest development of the art, fragile blossoms on impossibly brittle stems, and fancy glasses in the latest fashionable shape, made iridescent with the vapours of precious metals. The three, followed by Percival, who also examined the collection, walked slowly round the hall; and Mr. Spoelmann related in his harsh voice the origin of particular pieces, taking them carefully off their velvet stands with his thin, soft-cuffed hand, and holding them up to the electric light.

Klaus Heinrich had had plenty of practice in visits of inspection, in putting questions and making adroit remarks, so that he was well able at the same time to ponder over Imma Spoelmann's mode of expressing herself, that peculiar mode which worried him not a little. What amazing freedom she allowed herself! What extraordinary remarks she allowed herself to make! "Passion," "vice," where did she get the words from? where did she learn to use them so glibly? Had not Countess Löwenjoul, who herself dealt with the same topics in a confused sort of way, and had obviously seen the seamy side of life, described her as quite innocent!

And the description was undoubtedly correct, for was she not an exception by birth like himself, brought up like a girl "born to be queen," kept apart from the busy strife of men and from all the turmoil to which those sinister words corresponded in the life of reality? But she had uttered the words glibly, and had treated them as a joke. Yes, that was it, this dainty creature in her red-gold gown was merely a wielder of words; she knew no more of life than those words, she played with the most serious and most awful of them as with coloured stones, and was puzzled when she made people angry by their use. Klaus Heinrich's heart, as he thought of this, filled with sympathy.

It was nearly seven o'clock when he asked for his carriage to be called--slightly uneasy about his long stay, in view of the Court and the public. His departure evoked a fresh and terrifying demonstration on the part of Percival, the collie. Every alteration or interruption in a situation seemed to throw the noble animal off his moral balance. Quivering, yelping, and deaf to all blandishments, he stormed through the rooms and the hall and up and down the steps, drowning the words of leave-taking in his hubbub. The butler did the Prince the honours as far as the floor with the statues of gods. Mr. Spoelmann did not accompany him any distance. Miss Spoelmann made the position clear: "I am convinced that your sojourn in the bosom of our family has charmed you, Prince." And he was left wondering whether the joke lay in the expression "the bosom of our family" or in the actual fact. Anyhow, Klaus Heinrich was at a loss for a reply.

Leaning back in the corner of his brougham, rather sore and battered, and yet stimulated by the unusual treatment he had experienced, he drove home, through the dark Town Gardens to the Hermitage, returned to his sober Empire room, where he dined with von Schulenburg-Tressen and Braunbart-Schellendorf. Next day he read the comments of the _Courier_. They amounted only to a statement that yesterday his Royal Highness Prince Klaus Heinrich went to Schloss Delphinenort for tea, and inspected Mr. Spoelmann's renowned collection of fancy glass.

And Klaus Heinrich continued to live his unreal life, and to carry out his exalted calling. He uttered his gracious speeches, made his gestures, represented his people at the Court and at the President of the Council's great ball, gave free audiences, lunched in the officers' mess of the Grenadier Guards, showed himself at the Court Theatre, and bestowed on this and that district of the country the privilege of his presence. With a smile, and with heels together, he carried out all due formalities and did his irksome duty with complete self-possession, albeit he had at this time so much to think of--about the peppery Mr. Spoelmann, the muddle-headed Countess Löwenjoul, the harum-scarum Percy, and especially about Imma, the daughter of the house. Many a question to which his first visit to Delphinenort had given rise he was not yet in a position to answer, but only succeeded in solving as the result of further intercourse with the Spoelmanns, which he maintained to the eager and at last feverish interest of the public, and which advanced a step further when the Prince in the early morning one day, to the astonishment of his suite, his servants, and himself--indeed, partly involuntarily, and as if carried along by destiny--appeared alone and on horseback at Delphinenort, for the purpose of taking Miss Spoelmann, whom he disturbed in her mathematical studies at the top of the Schloss, for a ride.

The grip of winter had relaxed early in this ever-to-be-remembered year. After a mild January, the middle of February had seen the coming of a preliminary spring with birds and sunshine and balmy breezes, and as Klaus Heinrich lay on the first of these mornings at the Hermitage in his roomy old mahogany bed, from one of whose posts the spherical crown was missing, he felt himself, as it were, impelled by a strange hand and irresistibly inspired to deeds of boldness.

He rang the bell-pull for Neumann (they only had draw-bells at the Hermitage), and ordered Florian to be ready saddled in an hour's time. Should a horse be got ready for the groom too? No, it was not necessary. Klaus Heinrich said that he wanted to ride alone. Then he gave himself into Neumann's skilful hands for his morning toilette, breakfasted impatiently below in the garden room, and mounted his horse at the foot of the terrace. With his spurred top-boots in the stirrups, the yellow reins in his brown-gloved right hand, and the left planted on his hip under his open cloak, he rode at a walking pace through the soft morning, scanning the still bare branches for the birds whose twittering he heard. He rode through the public part of his park, through the Town Gardens and the grounds of Delphinenort. He reached it at half-past nine. Great was the general surprise.

At the main gate he gave Florian over to an English groom. The butler, who was crossing the mosaic hall busy on his household duties, stood still, taken aback at the sight of Klaus Heinrich. To the inquiry which the Prince addressed to him, in a clear and almost haughty voice, about the ladies, he did not even reply, but turned helplessly towards the marble staircase, gazing dumbly at the top step, for there stood Mr. Spoelmann.

It seemed that he had just finished breakfast, and was in the best of tempers. His hands were plunged deep in his pockets, his lounge coat drawn back from his velvet waistcoat, and the blue smoke of his cigarette was making him blink.

"Well, young Prince?" he said, and stared down at him....

Klaus Heinrich saluted and hurried up the red stair-carpet. He felt that the situation could only be saved by swiftness and, so to speak, by an attack by storm.

"You will be astounded, Mr. Spoelmann," he said, "at this early hour ..." He was out of breath, and the fact disturbed him greatly, he was so little used to it.

Mr. Spoelmann answered him by a look and a shrug of the shoulders, as much as to say that he could control himself, but desired an explanation.

"The fact is, we have an appointment ..." said Klaus Heinrich. He was standing two steps below the millionaire and was speaking up at him. "An appointment for a ride between Miss Imma and myself.... I have promised to show the ladies the 'Pheasantry' and the Court Kennels.... Miss Imma told me that she knew nothing about the surrounding country. It was agreed that on the first fine day ... It's such a lovely day to-day.... It is of course subject to your approval...."

Mr. Spoelmann shrugged his shoulders, and made a face as if to say: "Approval--why so?"

"My daughter is grown up," he said. "I don't interfere. If she rides, she rides. But I don't think she has time. You must find that out for yourself. She's in there." And Mr. Spoelmann pointed his chin towards the tapestry door, through which Klaus Heinrich had already once passed.

"Thanks," said Klaus Heinrich. "I'll go and see for myself." And he ran up the remaining steps, pushed the tapestry hanging aside with a determined gesture, and went down the steps into the sunlit, flower-scented winter garden.

In front of the splashing fountain and the basin with fancy-feathered ducks sat Imma Spoelmann leaning over a table, her back turned to the incomer. Her hair was down. It hung black and glossy on each side of her head, covered her shoulders, and allowed nothing to be seen but a shadow of the childlike quarter profile of her face, which showed white as ivory against the darkness of her hair. There she sat absorbed in her studies, working at the figures in the notebook before her, her lips pressed on the back of her left hand, and her right grasping the pen.

The Countess too was there, also busy writing. She sat some way off under the palms, where Klaus Heinrich had first conversed with her, and wrote sitting upright with her head on one side, a pile of closely scribbled note-paper lying at her side. The clank of Klaus Heinrich's spurs made her look up. She looked at him with half-closed eyes for two seconds, the long pen poised in her hand, then rose and curtseyed. "Imma," she said, "his Royal Highness Prince Klaus Heinrich is here."

Miss Spoelmann turned quickly round in her basket chair, shook her hair back and gazed without speaking at the intruder with big, startled eyes, until Klaus Heinrich had bid the ladies good-morning with a military salute. Then she said in her broken voice: "Good-morning to you too, Prince. But you are too late for breakfast. We've finished long ago."

Klaus Heinrich laughed.

"Well, it's lucky," he said, "that both parties have had breakfast, for now we can start at once for a ride."

"A ride?"

"Yes, as we agreed."

"We agreed?"

"No, don't say that you've forgotten!" he said pleadingly. "Didn't I promise to show you the country round? Weren't we going for a ride together when it was fine? Well, to-day it's glorious. Just look out ..."

"It's not a bad day," she said, "but you go too fast, Prince. I remember that there was some suggestion of a ride at some future time--but surely not so soon as this? Might I not at least have expected some sort of notification, if your Highness will allow the word? You must allow that I can't ride like this about here."

And she stood up to show her morning dress, which consisted of a loose gown of many-coloured silk and an open green-velvet jacket.

"No," he said, "unfortunately you cannot. But I'll wait here while you both change. It's quite early...."

"Uncommonly early. But in the second place I am rather busy with my innocent studies, as you saw. I've got a lecture at eleven o'clock."

"No," he cried, "to-day you must not grind at algebra, Miss Imma; you must not play in the vacuum, as you put it! Look at the sun!... May I?..." And he went to the table and took up the notebook.

What he saw made his head swim. A fantastic hocus-pocus, a witches' sabbath of abbreviated symbols, written in a childish round hand which was the obvious result of Miss Spoelmann's peculiar way of holding her pen, covered the pages. There were Greek and Latin letters of various heights, crossed and cancelled, arranged above and below cross lines, covered by other lines, enclosed in round brackets, formulated in square brackets. Single letters, pushed forward like sentries, kept guard above the main bodies. Cabalistic signs, quite unintelligible to the lay mind, cast their arms round letters and ciphers, while fractions stood in front of them and ciphers and letters hovered round their tops and bottoms. Strange syllables, abbreviations of mysterious words, were scattered everywhere, and between the columns were written sentences and remarks in ordinary language, whose sense was equally beyond the normal intelligence, and conveyed no more to the reader than an incantation.

Klaus Heinrich looked at the slight form, which stood by him in the shimmering frock, becurtained by her dark hair, and in whose little head all this lived and meant something. He said, "Can you really waste a lovely morning over all this God-forsaken stuff?"

A glance of anger met him from her big eyes. Then she answered with a pout:

"Your Highness seems to wish to excuse yourself for the want of intelligence you recently displayed with regard to your own exalted calling."

"No," he said, "not so! I give you my word that I respect your studies most highly. I grant that they bother me, I could never understand anything of that sort. I also grant that to-day I feel some resentment against them, as they seem likely to prevent us from going for a ride."

"Oh, I'm not the only one to interfere with your wish for exercise, Prince. There's the Countess too. She was writing--chronicling the experiences of her life, not for the world, but for private circulation, and I guarantee that the result will be a work which will teach you as well as me a good deal."

"I am quite sure of it. But I am equally sure that the Countess is incapable of refusing a request from you."

"And my father? There's the next stumbling-block. You know his temper. Will he consent?"

"He has consented. If you ride, you ride. Those were his words...."

"You have made sure of him beforehand, then? I'm really beginning to admire your circumspection. You have assumed the rôle of a Field Marshal, although you are not really a soldier, only a make-believe one, as you told us long ago. But there's yet one more obstacle, and that is decisive. It's going to rain."

"No, that's a very weak one. The sun is shining...."

"It's going to rain. The air is much too soft. I made sure of it when we were in the Spa-Gardens before breakfast. Come and look at the barometer if you don't believe me. It's hanging in the hall...."

They went out into the tapestry hall, where a big weather-glass hung near the marble fireplace. The Countess went with them. Klaus Heinrich said: "It's gone up."

"Your Highness is pleased to deceive yourself," answered Miss Spoelmann. "The refraction misleads you."

"That's beyond me."

"The refraction misleads you."

"I don't know what that is, Miss Spoelmann. It's the same as with the Adirondacks. I've not had much schooling, that's a necessary result of my kind of existence. You must make allowances for me."

"Oh, I humbly beg pardon. I ought to have remembered that one must use ordinary words when talking to your Highness. You are standing crooked to the hand and that makes it look to you as if it had risen. If you would bring yourself to stand straight in front of the glass, you would see that the black has not risen above the gold hand, but has actually dropped a little below it."

"I really believe you are right," said Klaus Heinrich sadly.

"The atmospheric pressure there is higher than I thought!"

"It is lower than you thought."

"But how about the falling quicksilver?"

"The quicksilver falls at low pressure, not at high, Royal Highness."

"Now I'm absolutely lost."

"I think, Prince, that you're exaggerating your ignorance by way of a joke, so as to hide what its extent really is. But as the atmospheric pressure is so high that the quicksilver drops, thus showing an absolute disregard for the laws of nature, let's go for a ride, Countess--shall we? I cannot assume the responsibility of sending the Prince back home again now that he has once come. He can wait in there till we're ready...."

When Imma Spoelmann and the Countess came back to the winter garden they were dressed for riding, Imma in a close-fitting black habit with breast-pockets and a three-cornered felt hat, the Countess in black cloth with a man's starched shirt and high hat. They went together down the steps, through the mosaic hall, and out into the open air, where between the colonnade and the big basin two grooms were waiting with the horses. But they had not yet mounted when with a loud barking, which was the expression of his wild excitement, Percival, the collie, prancing and leaping about, tore out of the Schloss and began a frenzied dance round the horses, who tossed their heads uneasily....

"I thought so," said Imma, patting her favourite Fatma's head, "there was no hiding it from him. He found it all out at the last moment. Now he intends to come with us and make a fine to-do about it too. Shall we drop the whole thing, Prince?"

But although Klaus Heinrich understood that he might just as well have allowed the groom to ride in front with the silver trumpet, so far as calling public attention to their expedition was concerned, yet he said cheerfully that Percival must come too; he was a member of the family and must learn the neighbourhood like the rest.

"Well, where shall we go?" asked Imma as they rode at a walk down the chestnut avenue. She rode between Klaus Heinrich and the Countess. Percival barked in the van. The English groom, in cockaded hat and yellow boot-tops, rode at a respectful distance behind.

"The Court Kennels are fine," answered Klaus Heinrich, "but it is a bit farther to the 'Pheasantry,' and we have time before lunch. I should like to show you the Schloss. I spent three years there as a boy. It was a seminary, you know, with tutors and other boys of my age. That's where I got to know my friend Ueberbein, Doctor Ueberbein, my favourite tutor."

"You have a friend?" asked Miss Spoelmann, with some surprise, and gazed at him. "You must tell me about him some time. And you were educated at the 'Pheasantry,' were you? Then we must see it, because you're obviously set on it. Trot!" she said as they turned into a loose riding-path. "There lies your hermitage, Prince. There's plenty for the ducks to eat in your pond. Let's give a wide berth to the Spa-Gardens, if that does not take us far out of our way."

Klaus Heinrich agreed, so they left the park and trotted across country to reach the high-road which led to their goal to the north-west. In the town gardens they were greeted with surprise by a few promenaders, whose greetings Klaus Heinrich acknowledged by raising his hand to his cap, Imma Spoelmann with a grave and rather embarrassed inclination of her dark head in the three-cornered hat. By now they had reached the open country, and were no longer likely to meet people. Now and then a peasant's cart rolled along the road, or a crouching bicyclist ploughed his way along it. But they turned aside from the road when they reached the meadow-land, which provided better going for their horses. Percival danced backwards in front of them, feverish and restless as ever, turning, springing, and wagging his tail--his breath came fast, his tongue hung far out of his foaming jaws, and he vented his nervous exaltation in a succession of short, sobbing yelps. Farther on he dashed off, following some scent with pricked ears and short springs, while his wild barking echoed through the air.

They discussed Fatma, which Klaus Heinrich had not yet seen close, and which he admired immensely. Fatma had a long, muscular neck and small, nodding head with fiery eyes; she had the slender legs of the Arab type, and a bushy tail. She was white as the moonlight, and saddled, girt, and bridled with white leather. Florian, a rather sleepy brown, with a short back, hogged mane, and yellow stockings, looked as homely as a donkey by the side of the distinguished foreigner, although he was carefully groomed. Countess Löwenjoul rode a big cream called Isabeau. She had an excellent seat, with her tall, straight figure, but she held her small head in its huge hat on one side, and her lids were half closed and twitched. Klaus Heinrich addressed some remarks to her behind Miss Spoelmann's back, but she did not answer, and went riding on with half-shut eyes, gazing in front of her with a Madonna-like expression, and Imma said:

"Don't let's bother the Countess, Prince, her thoughts are wandering."

"I hope," he said, "that the Countess was not annoyed at having to come with us."

And he was distinctly taken aback when Imma Spoelmann answered casually: "To tell the truth, she very likely was."

"Because of your sums?" he asked.

"Oh, the sums? They're not so urgent, only a way of passing the time--although I hope to get a good lot of useful information out of them. But I don't mind telling you, Prince, that the Countess is not enthusiastic on the subject of yourself. She has expressed herself to that effect to me. She said you were hard and stern and affected her like a cold douche."

Klaus Heinrich reddened.

"I know well," he said quietly, looking down at his reins, "that I don't act as a cordial, Miss Spoelmann, or, at any rate, only at a distance.... That, too, is inseparable from my kind of existence, as I said. But I am not conscious of having shown myself hard and stern to the Countess."

"Probably not in words," she replied, "but you did not allow her to let herself go, you did not do her the kindness of letting her tongue run a little, that's why she's vexed with you--and I know quite well what you did, how you embarrassed the poor thing and gave her a cold douche--quite well," she repeated, and turned her head away.

Klaus Heinrich did not answer. He kept his left hand planted on his hip, and his eyes were tired. Then he said:

"You know quite well? So I act like a cold douche on you too, Miss Spoelmann, do I?"

"I warn you," she answered at once in her broken voice, and wagging her head from side to side, "on no account to overrate the effect you have upon me, Prince." And she suddenly set Fatma off at a gallop and flew at such a pace over the fields towards the dark mass of the distant pine-woods that neither the Countess nor Klaus Heinrich could keep up with her. Not till she reached the edge of the wood through which the high-road ran did she halt and turn her horse to look mockingly at her followers.

Countess Löwenjoul on her cream was the first to come up with the runaway. Then came Florian, foaming and much exhausted by his unusual exertion. They all laughed and their breath came fast as they entered the echoing wood. The Countess had awakened and chatted merrily, making lively, graceful gestures and showing her white teeth. She poked fun at Percival, whose temper had again been excited by the gallop, and who was careering wildly among the trunks in front of the horses.

"Royal Highness," she said, "you ought to see him jump and turn somersaults. He can take a ditch six yards broad, and does it so lightly and gracefully, you'd be delighted. But only of his own accord, mind you, of his free will, for I believe he'd rather let himself be whipped to death than submit to any training or teaching of tricks. He is, one might say, his own trainer by nature, and though sometimes unruly he is never rough. He is a gentleman, an aristocrat, and full of character. He's as proud as you like, and though he seems mad he's quite able to control himself. Nobody has ever heard him cry for pain when punished and hurt. He only eats, too, when he is hungry, and at other times won't look at the most tempting dainties. In the morning he has cream ... he must be fed. He wears himself out, he's quite thin under his glossy coat, you can feel all his ribs. For I'm afraid he'll never grow to be old, but will fall an early victim to consumption. The street curs persecute him, they go for him in every street, but he jumps clear of them, and if they succeed in joining issue with him, he distributes a few bites with his splendid teeth which the rabble don't forget in a hurry. One must love such a compound of chivalry and virtue."

Imma agreed, in words which were the most serious and grave which Klaus Heinrich had ever heard from her mouth.

"Yes," she said, "you're a good friend to me, Percy, I shall always love you. A veterinary surgeon said you were half mad and advised us to have you put away, as you were impossible and a constant danger to us. But they shan't take my Percy from me. He is impossible, I know, and often an incumbrance, but he's always appealing and noble, and I love him dearly."

The Countess continued to talk about the collie's nature, but her remarks soon became disconnected and confused, and lapsed into a monologue accompanied by lively and elegant gestures. At last, after an acid look at Klaus Heinrich, her thoughts again began to wander.

Klaus Heinrich felt happy and cheered, whether as the result of the canter--for which he had had to brace himself up, for, though a decent figure on a horse, his left hand prevented him from being a strong rider--or for some other reason. After leaving the pine-wood they rode along the quiet high-road between meadows and furrowed fields, with a peasant's hut or a country inn here and there. As they drew near the next wood, he asked in a low voice:

"Won't you fulfil your promise and tell me about the Countess? What is your companion's history?"

"She is my friend," she answered, "and in a sense my governess too, although she did not come to us till I was grown up. That was three years ago, in New York, and the Countess was then in a terrible state. She was on the brink of starvation," said Miss Spoelmann, and as she said it she fastened her big black eyes with a searching, startled look on Klaus Heinrich.

"Really starvation?" he asked, and returned her look.... "Do please go on."

"Yes, I said that too when she came to us, and although I, of course, saw quite well that her mind was slightly affected, she made such an impression upon me that I persuaded my father to let her be my companion."

"What took her to America? Is she a countess by birth?" asked Klaus Heinrich.

"Not a countess, but of noble birth, brought up in refined and luxurious surroundings, sheltered and protected, as she expressed it to me, from every wind, because from childhood she had been impressionable and sensitive. But then she married a Count Löwenjoul, a cavalry captain--a strange specimen of the aristocracy, according to her account--not quite up to the mark, to put it mildly."

"What was wrong with him?" asked Klaus Heinrich.

"I can't exactly tell you, Prince. You must take into consideration the rather obscure way in which the Countess puts what she has to say. But, to judge from what she has told me, he must have been just about as arrant a scamp as one could well imagine--a regular blackguard."

"I see," said Klaus Heinrich, "what's called a hard case, or a tough proposition."

"Exactly; we'll say man of the world--but in the most comprehensive and unlimited sense, for, to judge by the Countess's remarks, there were no limits in his case."

"No, that's what I too gathered," said Klaus Heinrich. "I've met several people of that sort--regular devils, so to speak. I heard of one such, who used to make love in his motor car, even when it was going at full speed."

"Did your friend Ueberbein tell you of him?"

"No, somebody else. Ueberbein would not think it proper to mention anything of that sort to me."

"Then he must be a useless sort of friend, Prince."

"You'll think better of him when I tell you more about him, Miss Spoelmann. But please go on!"

"Well, I don't know whether Löwenjoul behaved like your roué. Anyhow he behaved disgracefully."

"I expect he gambled and drank."

"I guess so. And besides that of course he made love, neglected the Countess and carried on with the loose women that are always to be found everywhere--at first behind her back, and later no longer behind her back but impudently and openly without any regard for her feelings."

"But tell me, why did she ever marry him?"

"She married him against her parents' will, because, as she has told me, she was in love with him. For in the first place, he was a handsome man when she first met him--he fell off in his looks later. In the second place, his reputation as a man of the world had gone before him, and that, according to her, constituted a sort of irresistible attraction for her, for, though she had been so well sheltered and protected, nothing would shake her in her resolve to share her life with him. If one thinks it over, one can quite understand it."

"Yes," he said, "I can quite understand it. She wanted to have her fling, as it were, to get her eyes opened. And she saw the world with a vengeance."

"You may put it like that if you like: though the expression seems to me rather too flippant to describe her experiences. Her husband ill-treated her."

"Do you mean that he beat her?"

"Yes, he ill-treated her physically. But now comes something, Prince, which you too will not have heard about before. She gave me to understand that he ill-treated her not only in a temper, not only in anger and rage, but also without being exasperated, simply for his own satisfaction. I mean, that his caresses were so revolting as to amount to ill-treatment."

Klaus Heinrich was silent. Both looked very grave. At last he asked: "Did the Countess have any children?"

"Yes, two. They died quite young, both only a few weeks old, and that's the greatest sorrow the Countess has had to bear. It would seem from her hints that it was the fault of the loose women for whom her husband betrayed her that the children died directly after birth."

Both remained silent, and their eyes clouded over.