She let go my arm, kneeled on the ground, and crept through a little hole on all fours. The entrance was completely overgrown, and that was the only way to get inside.
And I, Baron von Hanckel of Ilgenstein, I, a paragon of dignity, I got down on all fours, and crawled through a hole no larger than an oven door.
Yes, gentlemen, that is what the women do with us.
Inside in the cool twilight she stretched herself out on a bench in a half reclining position, and wiped her bared throat with her handkerchief. Beautiful! I tell you, she looked perfectly beautiful.
When I got up and stood in front of her breathless, panting like a bear--at forty-eight years of age, gentlemen, you don't go dancing on all fours with impunity--she burst out laughing--a short, sharp, nervous laugh.
"Just laugh at me," I said.
"If you only knew how little I felt like laughing," she said, with a bitter expression about her mouth.
Then there was silence. She stared into space with her eyebrows lifted high. Her bosom rose and fell.
"What are you thinking of?" I asked.
She shrugged her shoulders.