CHAPTER XXXI
The next day it rained. Prokop wandered about the park, angry with himself at the thought that as a result he probably would not see the Princess at all. But she ran out bareheaded into the rain. “Only for five minutes,” she whispered, out of breath, and was about to kiss him. Then she caught sight of Mr. Holz. “Who’s that man?”
Prokop looked round quickly. “Who?” By this time he was so accustomed to his shadow that he had ceased to realize that it was always with him. “That’s . . . my guard, see?”
The Princess turned her commanding eyes on Mr. Holz, who instantly thrust his pipe into his pocket and retired some distance away. “Come,” whispered the Princess and drew Prokop into a summer-house. They sat there, not daring to kiss one another, for Mr. Holz was waiting near by, steadily getting soaked. “Your hand,” ordered the Princess quietly, and her passionate fingers grasped the disfigured stumps of Prokop’s paw. “Darling, darling,” she said, and went on: “you mustn’t look at me like that in front of people. I simply don’t know what to do. One day I shall throw my arms round your neck in public and then there’ll be a scandal, O God!” The Princess was simply aghast at the thought.
“Did you go to those girls last night?” she asked
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