“Heavens, I am interested in everything that is in any degree revolutionary.”
“A remarkable taste for an heir to a throne.”
“I shall never mount the throne—thank God!”
“That is a pity, for revolutionary monarchs are exactly what our epoch might make use of.”
“Do you think our epoch needs monarchs?”
This tone surprised Franka and appealed to her. In order to be able to continue the conversation, she sat down on a sofa which was just behind her. At her invitation Victor Adolph took his place on the sofa at a respectful distance from her. She let her eyes rest with pleasure on his figure. He was slender, sinewy, and very tall; his head with its blond curly hair was held high, as if he were a very haughty man; but this impression was contradicted by an exceedingly gentle expression about the mouth; the red lips were not concealed by his slight mustache; his eyes were intensely blue and full of vivacity; his eyebrows rather delicate and straight, also thick and almost black. His age was about twenty-six. Taken all in all, he was a fine specimen of the genus “Man.”
With no less pleasure Victor Adolph’s eyes rested on the womanly form next him. Indeed, Franka now looked womanly and not girlish as at her first arrival at the Sielenburg. Both the years and her work had matured her. The earnest and passionate mental work which she had to accomplish in her chosen mission had imprinted on her face an expression of almost gloomy resolution, but this wholly disappeared when she opened her mouth to speak, or still more when she smiled; then dimples showed in her cheeks and made her look much younger than she was. Her figure also, though still slim and supple, had lost its former ethereal delicacy. It was the figure of a majestic Diana, not of an emaciated nymph, such as “the new art” liked to paint. For the matter of that, at this time the fashion had changed; the angular, the osseous, thin-as-a-rail style was no longer held up as the ideal of feminine beauty. Arms like sticks, making a triangle at the elbow and terminating in huge hands; rectangular shoulders, from between which rises conically a neck displaying all the tendons; hips so narrow that the whole figure has the shape of a perpendicular worm, writhing even when it is not stepped on—all this, according to general taste, had given place again to the round, soft, and wavy line which has always prevailed as the line of beauty in the creations of Nature.
Franka practiced the greatest simplicity in her dress; she wore only smooth materials of one color, without any adornment of puffs, furbelows, or the like. Even though her toilette followed the fashion there was a stamp of originality and a personal touch in it. Her sleeves had invariably the well-known open Garlett shape. She always wore a bouquet of fresh violets at her belt. Her hair also was constantly dressed in the same way, the heavy black braids coiled on top of her head and worn like a diadem. As adornment she wore only pearls, although the Sielen family jewels consisted of diamonds and all kinds of precious stones.
Victor Adolph’s eyes studied her from head to foot—he was a great connoisseur and appraiser of the art of feminine dress: art in the true sense of the word; for only an artistic sense can succeed in so conforming the style, the color, and the character of a gown to the peculiarities of its wearer, so that the two make a harmonious picture. That evening, Franka wore a gown of light pale lilac; her silken shoes and stockings were also of lavender; a long string of pearls hung around her neck, and she had the bunch of violets at her breast, her white arms as usual were without gloves, her hands innocent of rings.
“You asked if our epoch needs monarchs? Prince, that is a strange question in your mouth.”