That Which Hath Wings: A Novel of the DayDehan, Richard
General
That Which Hath Wings: A Novel of the Day
Dehan, Richard
World War, 1914-1918 -- Fiction
"To the regicides," von Herrnung returned harshly, "Austria will
do—nothing that very much matters. It is not an important thing to
destroy two trapped rats. But I think there will be an ultimatum from
Vienna to the Servian Government; and if the terms of that are not
complied with, then the Emperor of Austria may give the signal for his
monitors upon the Donau to open fire upon the capital of Belgrade."
Patrine asked negligently, as a new surge of the crowd thrust her tall,
lithe figure away from her companion’s, forcing her to tighten her hold
upon his arm:
"’Monitors?’ ... I used to think monitors were big schoolboys and
schoolgirls. Senior pupils told off to keep order. I was one myself
once.... Chosen because I was bigger, and noisier, and naughtier than
any other girl in my class...."
"Ha, ha, ha! ... Prächtig! ... That is capital!" She could feel the
laughter shaking his big ribs. "That is just what they are—those
monitors of the Donau. Each is a big girl who keeps order _von anderen
Sorte_. But they have turned-up noses, not Egyptian and beautiful like
yours!"
He added, with the calculated roughness that had previously pleased her:
"You shall now put on your _mantel_. For the car, I see, is open." He
shrugged his broad square shoulders closer into his overcoat and pulled
up the collar about his throat, saying ill-temperedly: "Always does one
find it with the English. It is _lächerlich_—that passion for the air."
"Lovely, did you say? ..."
Ignorant or careless that he had said "ridiculous," Patrine suffered him
to wrap her mock ermines about her, seeing above the frieze of waiting
figures that filled in the lower part of the picture framed by the
portico, the emerald-green bird-of-Paradise plume of Lady Beauvayse
whisk into the big white Rolls-Royce, past the neat black-haired head of
Courtley, and the peaked cap and pale Cockney profile of Morris, the
chauffeur. She threw back a jest as she passed out:
"I’m glad you think it lovely. It’s one of the nicest things about
us—that we’re keen on soap and water and can’t do without lots of fresh
air."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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