Prokop made an abrupt movement. “What does that matter?” he cried, bringing down his fist heavily on the table.
“You must choose, the princess or the girl. You can’t have the princess; you may worship her from the distance but you may not kiss her hand, and you must not ask her whether she loves you. A princess may not do such things; she has behind her a thousand years of noble blood. Did you know that we used to be kings? Ah, you know nothing, but you ought to know at least that a princess lives in a glass case and you may not touch her. But you can have the ordinary woman, this dark girl. Stretch out your hand and she is yours, like anything else. Now you must choose between the two.”
Prokop was again chilled. “Princess,” he said heavily.
She came over to him and seriously kissed his cheek. “You’re mine, you understand? You darling! You see that you have a princess. And are you proud that you have a princess? What a terrible thing the princess must have done to cause anyone to grow haughty for a couple of days! I knew, I knew from the first moment I saw you that you wanted the princess; from anger, from a masculine sense of power or something like that. For this reason you hated me so much that you desired me and I ran after you. Do you think that I am annoyed with myself? On the contrary, I am proud that I have done it. That’s something, isn’t it? To lower oneself so quickly, to be a princess, a great lady and then to come . . . to come alone . . .”
Her words threw Prokop into consternation.
