"The people are very savage, are they not?"
"Savage?—oh, no. They are very fierce and proud, and strong; they are also the most wonderful artists. You call that to be a savage?"
"Artists?"
"Yes; look at that."
As he spoke he drew up his sleeve almost to the elbow, exposing a sunburnt arm, smooth, fine of texture, and enormously muscular. Over its brawny mold, with scaly convolutions elaborately tattooed, writhed a dragon in bright indigo.
"Oh, how beautiful!" exclaimed the Princess. Marveling at the clear intricacy of its detail, she stooped to examine it more closely.
Prince Fritz turned his arm this way and that, displaying it. He snapped his fingers: flick went each separate muscle, the dragon became alive.
"What do you think?" he inquired, smiling with childish vanity and the delight of feeling upon his skin the warmth of her breath.
"It is very beautiful," she murmured again, her admiration divided between the scaly dragon's wings and the splendidly molded limb.
"I have them far more beautiful upon my legs," said the Prince.