He had no heir of his own--and
he must have beauty and innocence. Innocence and beauty his
viciousness would have.
"Pah!" exclaimed von Hillern. "It is youth which requires such
things--and takes them. That is all imbecile London gossip. No, he
would not run after her if she ran away. He is a proud man and he
knows he would be laughed at. And he could not get her back from
a young man--who was her lover."
Her lover! How it thrilled the burning heart her poor, flat chest
panted above. With what triumphant knowledge of such things he
said it.
"No, he could not," she answered, her eyes still on his. "No one
could."
He laughed a little, confidently, but almost with light indifference.
"If she were missing, no particular search would be made then,"
he said. "She is pretty enough to suit Berlin."
He seemed to think pleasantly of something as he stood still for
a moment, his eyes on the floor. When he lifted them, there was
in their blue a hint of ugly exulting, though Mathilde Hirsch did
not think it ugly. He spoke in a low voice.
"It will be an exciting--a colossal day when we come to London--as
we shall. It will be as if an ocean had collected itself into one
huge mountain of a wave and swept in and overwhelmed everything.
There will be confusion then and the rushing up of untrained
soldiers--and shouts--and yells----"
"And Zeppelins dropping bombs," she so far forgot herself as to
pant out, "and buildings crashing and pavements and people smashed!
Westminster and the Palaces rocking, and fat fools running before
bayonets.
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