“Nothing to-night?”
“At the Duke’s. The first party’s on Thursday, the other next Tuesday.”
“Schön. I never go to parties,” said Schinkel.
“Neither do I.”
“Except that this is a kind of party—you and me,” he dreadfully grinned.
“Yes, and the woman of the house doesn’t approve of it.” The footstep of a jealous landlady had become audible in the passage, through the open door, which was presently closed from within with a little reprehensive bang. Something in this touch appeared to quicken exceedingly the Princess’s impatience and fear; the danger of being warned off made her wish still more uncontrollably to arrive at the satisfaction she had come for. “For God’s sake, Mr. Schinkel, take me up there. If you won’t I’ll go alone,” she pleaded.
Her face was white now and, it need hardly be added, all beautiful with anxiety. The German took in this impression and then, with no further word, turned and reopened the door and went forward, followed closely by his companion.
There was a light in the lower region which tempered the gloom of the staircase—as high, that is, as the first floor; the ascent the rest of the way was so dark that the pair went slowly and Schinkel led his companion by the hand. She gave a suppressed exclamation as she rounded a sharp turn in the second flight. “Good God, is that his door—with the light?”
“Yes, you can see under it. There was a light before,” he said without confusion.
“And why in heaven’s name didn’t you tell me?”