then tore it into pieces, moaning softly. It was evening. There were still no news of Prokop.
Perhaps he will come without announcing himself, she thought, and in impatient haste she put on her evening clothes, terribly agitated. She stood in front of her mirror and examined herself with burning eyes, horribly dissatisfied with her clothes, the way her hair was dressed, and everything possible. She covered her heated face with a thick layer of powder, and bedecked herself with jewels. But she seemed to herself to be ugly, impossible and awkward, “Hasn’t Paul come?” she asked every moment. At last he arrived: Nothing new; Mr. Prokop was sitting in darkness and had not ordered the lights to be lit.
It was already late and the Princess, utterly exhausted, was sitting in front of her glass. The powder was peeling off her burning cheeks, she looked positively grey and her hands were numb. “Undress me,” she ordered her maid weakly. The fresh, sturdy girl took off one ornament after another, loosened her clothes and wrapped her in a diaphanous peignoir. Just as she was about to begin combing the loose hair of the Princess, Prokop burst into the room, unannounced.
The Princess recoiled and became even more pale. “Go, Marie,” she breathed and drew the peignoir over her thin chest. “Why . . . have you come?”
Prokop leaned against a cupboard, his face pale and his eyes bloodshot. “So,” he said through his teeth, “that was your plan, eh? You arrange things for me nicely!”
She stood up as if she had been given a blow:
