“Excuse me,” he said in English, “but that horrible female has done something to you. She has pinched you, hasn't she? I am sure she pinched you just now, when she stood by your chair.”
The girl received this overture with the wide, motionless stare of profound astonishment. Heyst, vexed with himself, suspected that she did not understand what he said. One could not tell what nationality these women were, except that they were of all sorts. But she was astonished almost more by the near presence of the man himself, by his largely bald head, by the white brow, the sunburnt cheeks, the long, horizontal moustaches of crinkly bronze hair, by the kindly expression of the man's blue eyes looking into her own. He saw the stony amazement in hers give way to a momentary alarm, which was succeeded by an expression of resignation.
“I am sure she pinched your arm most cruelly,” he murmured, rather disconcerted now at what he had done.
It was a great comfort to hear her say:
“It wouldn't have been the first time. And suppose she did—what are you going to do about it?”
“I don't know,” he said with a faint, remote playfulness in his tone which had not been heard in it lately, and which seemed to catch her ear pleasantly. “I am grieved to say that I don't know. But can I do anything? What would you wish me to do? Pray command me.”
Again, the greatest astonishment became visible in her face; for she now perceived how different he was from the other men in the room. He was as different from them as she was different from the other members of the ladies' orchestra.
“Command you?” she breathed, after a time, in a bewildered tone. “Who are you?” she asked a little louder.
“I am staying in this hotel for a few days. I just dropped in casually here. This outrage—”
“Don't you try to interfere,” she said so earnestly that Heyst asked, in his faintly playful tone: