‘Precisely as before,’ said she. ‘As soon as this comedy is over, I shall request the Freiherr von Gondremark to visit me. Do you understand?’ she added, rising. ‘For my part, I have done.’
‘I will then ask the favour of your hand, madam,’ said Otto, palpitating in every pulse with anger. ‘I have to request that you will visit in my society another part of my poor house. And reassure yourself—it will not take long—and it is the last obligation that you shall have the chance to lay me under.’
‘The last?’ she cried. ‘Most joyfully?’
She offered her hand, and he took it; on each side with an elaborate affectation, each inwardly incandescent. He led her out by the private door, following where Gondremark had passed; they threaded a corridor or two, little frequented, looking on a court, until they came at last into the Prince’s suite. The first room was an armoury, hung all about with the weapons of various countries, and looking forth on the front terrace.
‘Have you brought me here to slay me?’ she inquired.
‘I have brought you, madam, only to pass on,’ replied Otto.
Next they came to a library, where an old chamberlain sat half asleep. He rose and bowed before the princely couple, asking for orders.
‘You will attend us here,’ said Otto.
The next stage was a gallery of pictures, where Seraphina’s portrait hung conspicuous, dressed for the chase, red roses in her hair, as Otto, in the first months of marriage, had directed. He pointed to it without a word; she raised her eyebrows in silence; and they passed still forward into a matted corridor where four doors opened. One led to Otto’s bedroom; one was the private door to Seraphina’s. And here, for the first time, Otto left her hand, and stepping forward, shot the bolt.
‘It is long, madam,’ said he, ‘since it was bolted on the other side.’