“You are a most generous foe.”
She turned to me with a dazzling smile.
“Don’t say foe,” she said, with a pretty lingering on the last word. And as she said it, I felt a knife driven hard into my ribs, and the muff dropped to the ground.
“God in heaven!” I cried.
The princess flung herself into the corner of the carriage.
“Ha—ha—ha! Ha—ha—ha!” she laughed, merrily, musically, fiendishly.
I tried to clutch her; I believe I should have killed her, I was half mad. But the blood was oozing fast from the wound—only the knife itself held my life in. Things danced before my eyes, and my hands fell on my lap.
The carriage stopped, the door opened, and the coachman appeared. It was all like a dream to me.
“Take his feet,” said the princess. The man obeyed, and between them they lifted, or, rather, hauled and pushed, me out of the carriage, and laid me by the roadside. I was almost in a faint, and the last thing I was conscious of was a pretty, mocking mouth, which said:
“Won’t you escort me, Mr. Jason?”—and then added to the coachman, “To Glottenberg—quick!”