he said in a surly tone: “I thought that you did not even see me.” Mr. Carson disappeared as quickly as if he had sunk through the earth.
The Princess wore a low-necked dress which had the effect of confusing Prokop. Whichever way he might look he saw her firm swarthy flesh and smelt the fragrance of her delicate scent.
“I hear that you are working again,” said the Princess. “What exactly are you doing?”
“Well, one thing and another,” answered Prokop, “nothing particularly important.” Here was a chance to repair his insulting behaviour in seizing her hand, but what on earth could he say by way of expiation? “If you would like me to,” he mumbled, “I could . . . make an experiment with your powder.”
“What sort of experiment?”
“An explosive. You’ve enough on you to charge a cannon.”
The Princess smiled. “I didn’t know that powder was an explosive?”
“Everything is an explosive . . . if you treat it properly. You yourself”
“What?”
“Nothing. A latent explosion. You are terribly explosive.”
“When I am treated properly,” smiled the Princess, and suddenly grew serious. “Wicked, unfeeling, violent, curious, and proud, eh?”
“A girl who wants to sacrifice her skin . . . for an old woman.”
The Princess flared up. “Who told you that?”
“Mon Oncle Charles,” babbled Prokop.
