“Ah, you speak the English. I cannot complain. It is your language. I also speak it perfectly—as you hear.”
She did not venture to inform him that his accent was execrable. She only stared, and her pale lips silently shaped the words “go away.”
“I speak it perfectly, but I detest it. The whole world must speak their abominable language because they will not learn any other. Even the Irish must learn English before they can curse it for sympathy. I detest the English. When I meet a stranger, I address him first in German; next”—he enumerated them rapidly—“in the French, Italian, Spanish, Russ, Magyar, Turkish and the Chinese. Then if he will not....”—with a shrug—“I condescend to speak the English—but always against my will. I detest the English.”
If Rosamond thought at all during this address, she must have thought the man mad. She was afraid to speak or move; she stared, hoping perhaps to conquer the maniac, if such he were, by the power of her fixed eye.
“Ah!—pardon.” He gave the word the French pronunciation; and stooping painfully, picked up the towel and handed it to her. Since she did not take it, he draped it over her arm, seemingly unaware that she backed away from him.
“Pardon.” He picked up the two sponges, one in each hand, and put them into the bowl. “Pardon,” and the roll of batting followed the sponges. “Pardon,” and “pardon,” et cetera, and one by one the linen strips were hung over the towel on her arm. Then he withdrew a few steps and bowed.
“What—what are you doing here?” She managed to ask at length. “Who are you?”
“Madam, my mission in your detestable country, for a few hours longer, is a secret. But my name I disclose: it is to comfort your alarms. How can one better comfort the alarms than to introduce to you Teodor Carl Peter Lassanavatiewicz, of the diplomatic secret service of Woodseweedsetisky? I have been wounded in that service. Not my word alone, but my murdered leg, introduces me to you as a patriot.”
“Wounded?” she repeated automatically.
“Ja, meine Dame. I have been execrably, abominably wounded in the leg. My secret business—and, believe, it is of a most international importance—has brought me to your country. I can explain no more. I am a believer not in the discretion of woman.” He bowed.