"Of great use to our country, Harietta, my wife," Hans murmured again, clearing his throat.
"I am not your wife, my pretty Hans!" and she raised her eyebrows, and curled one corner of her upper lip. "You gave me up at the bidding of the higher command—I am your mistress now and then, when I feel inclined—but I am Stanislass' wife. I like a man better when I am his mistress; there are no tiresome old duties along with it."
Hans growled, he hated to realise this.
"You must be more careful with your speech, Harietta. When you get to England you must not say 'along with it'—after the pains I have taken with your grammar, too! You can use Americanisms if they are apt, and even a literal translation of another language—but bad grammar—common phrases—pah! that is to give the show away!"
Harietta reddened—her vanity disliked criticism.
"I take very good care of my language when it is necessary in the world—I am considered to have a lovely voice—but when I'm with you I guess I can enjoy a holiday—it's kind of a rest to let yourself go," her pronunciation lapsed into the broadest American, just to irritate him, and she stood and laughed in his face.
He caught her in his arms. She never failed to appeal to his senses; she had won him by that force and so held his brute nature even after five years. This was always the reason of whatever success she secured. A man had no smallest doubt as to why he was drawn; it was a direct appeal to the most primitive animal nature in him. The birth of Love is ever thus if we would analyse it truly, but the spirit fortunately so wraps things in illusion that generally both participants really believe that the mutual attraction is because of higher emotions of the mind, and so they are doomed to disappointment when passion is sated, unless the mind fulfills the ideal. But if the reality fails to make good, the refined spirit turns in disgust from the material, unconsciously resentful in that it has suffered deception. With Harietta this disappointment could never occur, since she created no illusion that she was appealing to the mind at all, and so a man if he were attracted faced no unknown quality, but was aware that it was only the animal in him which was drawn, and if his senses were his masters, not his servants, her victory was complete.
After some more fierce caresses had come to an end—there was no delicacy about Harietta—Hans continued his discourse.
"There has come here to Paris a young man of the name of Ardayre—Ferdinand Ardayre—he is slippery, but he can be of the greatest value to us. See that you become friends—you can reach him through Abba Bey. He hates his brother who is the head of the family and he hates his brother's wife—for family reasons which it is not necessary to waste time in telling you. I knew him in Constantinople. Underneath I believe he hates the English—there is a slur on him."
"I have already met him," and Harietta's eyes sparkled. "I hate the wife also for my own reasons—yes—how can I help you with this?"