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She read and re-read the literary masterpieces of England, France and Germany. As a linguist she earned special distinction. "Her intellectual faculties," says her master, M. Papadopoulos, "expanded with so much rapidity, that the professors charged with her instruction could not keep any other pupil abreast of her in the same studies.
Papadopoulos sang out in breathless delight: "If I am the King of Cats, you, Carissima, are the Queen. Nay, more, you are the Goddess!" Lola Brandt laughed. I did not. It was uncanny. It seemed as if some mysterious freemasonic affinity existed between her and the evil beast. During her drive hither she had entered my own atmosphere. She had been the handsome, unconventional woman of the world.
But I was industrious enough and patient enough to triumph over all such difficulties, and though the study of languages is far from being popular in the Latin countries, I did not cease to pursue it until the epoch of my marriage. "M. Papadopoulos has often referred to my passionate love of history even in my early childhood. This passion has constantly developed.
Something seemed to click inside my head, like a clogged cog-wheel that had suddenly freed itself, and my mind went whirling away straight through the past few weeks. I tried to smile, and I said: "You are quite mistaken." "Oh, no," he replied, wagging his Napoleonic head. "Anastasius Papadopoulos is never mistaken. She told me so herself. She wept.
He laughed. "That's a good sign. Let me see how you are getting on." He stuck a thermometer in my mouth and held my pulse. These formalities completed, he turned up the bedclothes and did something with my body. Only then did I realise that I was tightly bandaged. My impressions grew clearer, and when he raised his face I recognised the doctor who had sat on the sofa with Anastasius Papadopoulos.
"Then, my dear Lola," said I, "the first thing I must tell you is that I did not send for you." "What do you mean? The telegram?" "It was sent by Anastasius Papadopoulos." "Anastasius?" She bent forward and looked at me. "What is he doing here?" "Heaven knows!" said I. "But what he has done has been to find Captain Vauvenarde.
He regretted to have to inform the audience that Madame Papadopoulos would not be able to conclude her most interesting performance that evening as she had unfortunately received injuries of a very grave nature. Then he signalled to the orchestra, who crashed into a loud and vulgar march with clanging brass and thundering drum.
I put my hands over my ears so as not to hear. Presently the porter returned with a stout person in authority, who drew me into the stage-doorkeeper's box. "You are a friend of Frau Papadopoulos?" "Friend!" I cried. "She is to be my wife. I am in a state of horror and despair. Tell me what has happened." Seeing my condition, he laid aside his official manner and became human.
My polite formula seemed to delight Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos enormously. He made a series of the most complicated bows, to the joy of the waiters and the passers-by.
I stepped into the drawing-room close by and drew up a telegram to Dale. "Lady summoned by Papadopoulos on private affairs. Avoid lunacy save for electioneering purposes. Then I joined Lola and Colonel Bunnion. She was lying back in her laziest and most pantherine attitude, and she looked up at me as I approached with eyes full of velvet softness.
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