“If you know that,” said the Princess with quiet dignity, “why do you ask me?”
“I want to hear you say so,” said Prokop through his teeth, “I want you to say . . . directly . . . what I am to you. That’s what I want to hear!”
The Princess shook her head.
“I must know,” said Prokop fiercely, “otherwise—otherwise”
The Princess smiled wearily and put her hand on his. “No, I beg you, don’t, don’t ask me to tell you.”
“Why?”
“You would have too much power over me,” she said quietly, and Prokop trembled with delight.
From outside there came the discreet cough of Mr. Holz, and behind the bushes in the distance could be seen the silhouette of Uncle Rohn. “Look, he’s searching for us,” whispered the Princess. “You musn’t appear this evening.” Their hands grew quiet; the rain hissed on the roof of the summer-house; they were spattered with cool drops. “Darling, darling,” whispered the Princess and put her face near Prokop’s. “What a thing you are! A big nose, bad-tempered, covered with scars. They say that you’re a great scientist. Why aren’t you a prince?”
Prokop made a movement of impatience.
She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “You’re angry again. And you’ve called me a beast and worse things. You won’t have any mercy for what I do . . . for what I’m going to do. . . . Darling,” she concluded, and stretched out her hand towards his face.
