Mr. Carson chattered on happily, but said nothing about what had happened or what was to happen in the future; they passed through the park and he showed him a rare variety of Amorphophallus and next to it a particular species of Japanese cherry; and then they came in sight of the Castle of Balttin, all overgrown with ivy. At the entrance was waiting a quiet and gentle old man in white gloves named Paul, who led Prokop straight to the guest’s apartments. Prokop had never been in such surroundings in his life: parquet flooring, empire style, everything old and valuable, so that he was afraid even to sit down. And before he had had time to wash his hands there was Paul with eggs, a bottle of wine and a glass, which he set down on the table as carefully as if he were waiting on a princess. Beneath the window was a yard covered with pale yellow sand; a groom in top boots was training a large dapple grey horse; beside him there stood a slight, dark girl who was watching the trotting of the horse through half-closed eyes and from time to time giving the groom some sort of brief orders, after which she knelt down and felt the animal’s hocks.
Mr. Carson then appeared with the swiftness of the wind, saying that he must now introduce Prokop to the general manager. He led him along a long white passage, adorned exclusively with antlers and lined with black carved chairs. A red-faced page wearing white gloves opened the door for them, Mr. Carson pushed Prokop inside into a sort of reception room and the door closed behind them. At a desk there was seated a tall old man, extraordinarily
