The two continued to stand there in the brown evening, and they had some further conversation of a desultory and irrelevant kind. At the end of ten minutes the Princess broke out in a low tone, laying her hand on her companion’s arm: “Mr. Schinkel, this won’t do. I’m intolerably worried.” “Yes, that’s the nature of ladies,” the German sagely answered. “I want to go up to his room,” the Princess said. “You’ll be so good as to show me where it is.” “It will do you no good if he’s not there.” “I’m not sure he’s not there.” “Well, if he won’t speak it shows he likes better not to have visitors.” “Oh he may like to have _me_ better than he does you!” she frankly suggested. “_Das kann sein—das kann sein._” But Schinkel made no movement to introduce her into the house. “There’s nothing to-night—you know what I mean,” she remarked with a deep look at him. “Nothing to-night?” “At the Duke’s. The first party’s on Thursday, the other next Tuesday.” “_Schön._ I never go to parties,” said Schinkel. “Neither do I.” “Except that _this_ is a kind of party—you and me,” he dreadfully grinned. “Yes, and the woman of the house doesn’t approve of it.” The footstep of a jealous landlady had become audible in the passage, through the open door, which was presently closed from within with a little reprehensive bang. Something in this touch appeared to quicken exceedingly the Princess’s impatience and fear; the danger of being warned off made her wish still more uncontrollably to arrive at the satisfaction she had come for. “For God’s sake, Mr. Schinkel, take me up there. If you won’t I’ll go alone,” she pleaded. Her face was white now and, it need hardly be added, all beautiful with anxiety. The German took in this impression and then, with no further word, turned and reopened the door and went forward, followed closely by his companion. There was a light in the lower region which tempered the gloom of the staircase—as high, that is, as the first floor; the ascent the rest of the way was so dark that the pair went slowly and Schinkel led his companion by the hand. She gave a suppressed exclamation as she rounded a sharp turn in the second flight. “Good God, is that his door—with the light?” “Yes, you can see under it. There was a light before,” he said without confusion. “And why in heaven’s name didn’t you tell me?” “Because I thought it would worry you.” “And doesn’t it worry _you_?” “A little, but I don’t mind,” Schinkel professed. “Very likely he may have left it.” “He doesn’t leave candles!” she returned with vehemence. She hurried up the few remaining steps to the door and paused there with her ear against it. Her hand grasped the handle and turned it, but the door resisted. Then she panted to her companion: “We must go in—we must go in!” “But what will you do when it’s locked?” he contended. “You must break it down.” “It’s very expensive,” said Schinkel.