And she conducted Klaus Heinrich to an arrangement of basket chairs with embroidered linen cushions which stood in front of a group of palms. She spoke in a brisk and emphatic tone, with her little head with its thin iron-grey hair bent on one side and her white teeth showing as she laughed. Her figure was distinctly graceful in the close-fitting brown dress she was wearing, and she moved as freshly and elegantly as an officer's wife. Only in her eyes, whose lids she kept blinking, there was something of mistrust or spite, something unintelligible. They sat down facing each other at the round garden-table, on which lay a few books. Percival, exhausted by his outburst, curled himself up on the narrow pearl-grey carpet on which the furniture stood. His black coat was like silk, with white paws, chest, and muzzle. He had a white collar, yellow eyes, and a parting along his back. Klaus Heinrich began a conversation for conversation's sake, a formal dialogue about nothing in particular, which was all he could do. "I hope, Countess, that I have not come at an inconvenient time. Luckily I need not feel myself an unauthorized intruder. I do not know whether Miss Spoelmann has told you.... She was so kind as to suggest my calling. It was about those lovely pieces of glass which Mr. Spoelmann so generously gave to yesterday's bazaar. Miss Spoelmann thought that her father would have no objection to letting me see the rest of his collection. That's why I'm here ..." The Countess ignored the question whether Imma had told her of the arrangement. She said: "This is tea-time, Royal Highness. Of course your visit is not inconvenient. Even if, as I hope will not be the case, Mr. Spoelmann were too unwell to appear...." "Oh, is he ill?" In reality Klaus Heinrich wished just a little that Mr. Spoelmann might be too unwell. He anticipated his meeting with him with vague anxiety. "He was feeling ill to-day, Royal Highness. He had a touch of fever, shivering, and a little faintness. Dr. Watercloose was with him for a long time this morning. He was given an injection of morphia. There's some question of an operation being necessary." "I am very sorry," said Klaus Heinrich quite honestly. "An operation? How dreadful!" To which the Countess answered, letting her eyes wander: "Oh yes. But there are worse things in life--many much worse things than that." "Undoubtedly," said Klaus Heinrich. "I can quite believe it." He felt his imagination stirred in a vague and general way by the Countess's allusion. She looked at him with her head inclined to one side, and an expression of contempt on her face. Then her slightly distended grey eyes shifted, while she smiled the mysterious smile which Klaus Heinrich already knew and which had something seductive about it. He felt it was necessary to resume the conversation. "Have you lived long with the Spoelmanns, Countess?" he asked.