"Where shall you find the cook?" repeated Fritzing, staring still harder. "This house is so gigantic is it not," he said with an enormous sarcasm, "that no doubt the cook has lost himself. Have you perhaps omitted to investigate the coal-hole?" "Herr Geheimrath, where shall I find the cook?" asked Annalise tossing her head. "Fräulein, is there a mirror in your bedroom?" "The smallest I ever saw. Only one-half of my face can I see reflected in it at a time." "Fräulein, the half of that face you see reflected in it is the half of the face of the cook." "I do not understand," said Annalise. "Yet it is as clear as shining after rain. You, _mein liebes Kind_, are the cook." It was now Annalise's turn to stare, and she stood for a moment doing it, her face changing from white to red while Fritzing turned his back and taking out a pencil made little sums on the margin of the bill. "Herr Geheimrath, I am not a cook," she said at last, swallowing her indignation. "What, still there?" he exclaimed, looking up sharply. "Unworthy one, get thee quickly to the kitchen. Is it seemly to keep the Princess waiting?" "I am not a cook," said Annalise defiantly. "I was not engaged as a cook, I never was a cook, and I will not be a cook." Fritzing flung down the bill and came and glared close into Annalise's face. "Not a cook?" he cried. "You, a German girl, the daughter of poor parents, you are not ashamed to say it? You do not hide your head for shame? No--a being so useful, so necessary, so worthy of respect as a cook you are not and never will be. I'll tell you what you are,--I've told you once already, and I repeat it--you are a knave, my Fräulein, a knave, I say. And in those parts of your miserable nature where you are not a knave--for I willingly concede that no man or woman is bad all through--in those parts, I say, where your knavishness is intermittent, you are an absolute, unmitigated fool." "I will not bear this," cried Annalise. "Will not! Cannot! Shall not! Inept Negation, get thee to thy kitchen and seek wisdom among the pots." "I am no one's slave," cried Annalise, "I am no one's prisoner." "Hark at her! Who said you were? Have I not told you the only two things you are?" "But I am treated as a prisoner, I am treated as a slave," sobbed Annalise. "Unmannerly one, how dare you linger talking follies when your royal mistress is waiting for her tea? Run--run! Or must I show you how?" "Her Grand Ducal Highness," said Annalise, not budging, "told me also to prepare the bath for her this evening." "Well, what of that?" cried Fritzing, snatching up the bill again and adding up furiously. "Prepare it, then." "I see no water-taps." "Woman, there are none." "How can I prepare a bath without water-taps?"