“I had gone up to the palace to see the exhibition of the new paintings—you have not seen it? You must. All the time I was thinking absently of Black America, and one picture there intensified and stirred my thoughts—a weird massing of black shepherds and a star. I dropped into the Viktoria, almost unconsciously, because the tea there is good and the muffins quite unequaled. I know that I should not go there unaccompanied, even in the day; white women may, but brown women seem strangely attractive to white men, especially Americans; and this is the open season for them.
“Twice before I have had to put Americans in their place. I went quite unconsciously and noted nothing in particular until that impossible young man sat down at my table. I did not know he had followed me out. Then you knocked him into the gutter quite beautifully. It had never happened before that a stranger of my own color would offer me protection in Europe. I had a curious sense of some great inner meaning to your act—some world involvement. It seemed almost that the Powers of Heaven had bent to give me the knowledge which I was groping for; and so I invited you, that I might hear and know more.”
She rose, insisted on paying the bill herself. “You are my guest, you see. It is late and I must go. Then, tomorrow night at eight. My card and address— Oh, I quite forgot. May I know your name?”
Matthew had no card. But he wrote in her tiny memorandum book with its golden filigree, “Matthew Towns, Exile, Hotel Roter Adler.”
She held out her hand, half turning to go. He slenderness made her look taller than she was. The curved line of her flowed sinuously from neck to ankle. She held her right hand high, palm down, the long fingers drooping and a ruby flamed dark crimson on her forefinger. Mathew reached out and shook her hand heartily. He had, as he did it, a vague feeling that he took her by surprise. Perhaps she shook hands too hard, for her hand was very little and frail. Perhaps she did not mean to shake hands—but then, what did she mean?
She was gone. He took her card and read it. There was a little coronet and under it, engraved in flowing script, “H.R.H. the Princess Kautilya of Bwodpur, India.” Below was written, “Lützower Ufer, No. 12.”
