“That is my affair.  Perhaps buy food,” she said with a malicious side-glance.

“I tell you there shall be a cook.”

“A cook,” said Annalise counting on her fingers,—­“and a good cook, observe—­not a cook like the Frau Pearce—­a cook, then, no more rude names, and eight hundred marks.  Then I stop.  I suffer.  I am silent.”

“It cannot be done.  I cannot give you eight.”

“C’est l’amour, c’est l’amour....  The Princess waits for her tea.  I will prepare it for her this once.  I am good, you see, at heart.  But I must have eight hundred marks. Cest l’amo-o-o-o-o-our.”

“I will give you seven,” said Fritzing, doing rapid sums in his head.  Seven hundred was something under thirty-five pounds.  He would still have five pounds left for housekeeping.  How long that would last he admitted to himself that probably only heaven knew, but he hoped that with economy it might be made to carry them over a fortnight; and surely by the end of a fortnight he would have hit on a way of getting fresh supplies from Germany?  “I will give you seven hundred.  That is the utter-most.  I can give no more till I have written home for money.  I have only a little more than that here altogether.  See, I treat you like a reasonable being—­I set the truth plainly before you.  More than seven hundred I could not give if I would.”

“Good,” said Annalise, breaking off her music suddenly.  “I will take that now and guarantee to be silent for fourteen days.  At the end of that time the Herr Geheimrath will have plenty more money and will, if he still desires my services and my silence, give me the three hundred still due to me on the thousand I demand.  If the Herr Geheimrath prefers not to, then I depart to my native country.  While the fortnight lasts I will suffer all there is to suffer in silence.  Is the Herr Geheimrath agreed?”

“Shameless one!” mentally shrieked Fritzing, “Wait and see what will happen to thee when my turn comes!” But aloud he only agreed.  “It is well, Fraeulein,” he said.  “Take in the Princess’s tea, and then come to my sitting-room and I will give you the money.  The fire burns in the kitchen.  Utensils, I believe, are ready to hand.  It should not prove a task too difficult.”

“Perhaps the Herr Geheimrath will show me where the tea and milk is?  And also the sugar, and the bread and butter if any?” suggested Annalise in a small meek voice as she tripped before him into the kitchen.

What could he do but follow?  Her foot was well on his neck; and it occurred to him as he rummaged miserably among canisters that if the creature should take it into her head to marry him he might conceivably have to let her do it.  As it was it was he and not Annalise who took the kettle out to the pump to fill it, and her face while he was doing it would have rejoiced her parents or other persons to whom she was presumably dear, it was wide with so enormous a satisfaction.  Thus terrible is it to be in the power of an Annalise.