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
