Backing away from him, I laughed, hysterically, “I came here to eat and not to make love.”
“Did you?” he inquired, putting his face down close to mine and taking hold of my shoulders.
I stared straight back at him, saying, “I am not afraid either of you or your old dog.” At that moment, thank heaven, the door opened and in came the waiter. I dashed out and downstairs, Boris following me and protesting that he was only trying to make a little fun, but I am not sure. Aunt says I made a fuss over nothing, and insisted that we all go together to the circus with him that night, but you may be sure I hung onto Checkers pretty closely. However, the Prince pointed out to me the girl on the trapeze, the same one you had admired in Rome. She was very beautiful—I am a little jealous for she looked like Mona.
Boris and I rode several times together and one day jumped our horses in the Bois, much to the amusement of a female seminary that was passing. I had a fine time and thought how the people at home would laugh if they could see me—such a change was my smart riding habit from my old duds at the farm, and with a Prince. Then the other day he took me to the Luxembourg gallery to look at a curious sculpture of the sphinx—the head of a beautiful woman on the body of a lioness, with a man in her clutches, just their lips touching, everything thrown away for that one kiss. It made me think of some verses I read the other day,
“Inviolate and immobile, she does not rise, she does not stir,
For silver moons are naught to her, and naught to her the suns that reel.
Come forth, my lovely seneschal! So somnolent, so statuesque!
Come forth, you exquisite grotesque! Half woman and half animal!
And did you talk with Thoth and did you hear the horn-mooned Io weep?
And know the painted kings who sleep beneath the wedge-shaped pyramid?