“She is out now with my aunt. They will be back soon.”
“Good God!” muttered Reineke, sitting down, and holding his head in his hands. “Should I go—or shall I stay?”
“Then you are the man. Listen to what I heard last night. My uncle told Selaka that he would be glad to see his daughter my wife—oh, don’t fly into a rage, we are not engaged, and I see by your angry smile you don’t think it likely to come to pass. Well, Selaka said he liked me, and in his estimation, my birth and social position were a set-off against my deficiencies in classical lore. But there is an impediment. His daughter has recently made the heaviest sacrifice a woman can make for her father, and he could not pain her by asking her to choose a successor to the lover she gave up for him. You are the lover, I know. Why did she give you up?”
“Because I am a Turk.”
“A Turk! You!”
Rudolph burst into a harsh laugh, and stopped suddenly when his ear caught the sound of a carriage drawn up outside. He glanced quickly out of the window.
“She has come, Monsieur le Sultan,” he announced, sarcastically.
Both men stood still, and rapid steps approached. Through the half-open door the flutter of silken raiment was heard brushing the floor, and the baroness stood before them, looking courteous interrogation.
“This is Herr Reineke,” said Rudolph, in German.
“Oh, M. Reineke,” the baroness exclaimed, in French. “This is indeed a pleasure. You will stay and dine with us in a friendly way. No ceremony. The baron will keep you company in morning attire. It will be delightful, as the unexpected always is.”