“In the second place I’m beginning to like it here.”
“And further, further?”
“Nothing further,” smiled Prokop, enduring the serious, scrutinizing glance of the Prince.
“Listen,” said Oncle Rohn after a moment, “I did not mean to tell you. But the point is that in a day or so you are to be transferred elsewhere, to a fortress. Still under the accusation of espionage. You mustn’t imagine. . . . My dear friend, get away while there is still time!”
“Is that true?”
“Honestly it is.”
“Then . . . then I am obliged to you for warning me.”
“What do you propose to do?”
“Well, I shall make my arrangements,” said Prokop bloodthirstily. “Mon prince, you may inform HER that it isn’t done . . . as easily as that.”
“What? What do you mean?” stammered Oncle Charles.
Prokop made a gesture in the air with his hand as if he were throwing something imaginary in front of him. “Bang,” he said.
Oncle Charles drew back. “You intend to defend yourself?”
Prokop said nothing, but stood with his hands in his pockets, frowning darkly and reflecting.
Oncle Charles, pale and fragile in the nocturnal darkness, stepped up to him. “Do you . . . love her as much as that?” he said quickly, gulping with emotion.
Prokop did not answer. “You love her,” repeated
