But people who are interested
in the uplift movements are always in the clouds.
SCHMETTAU. This Lieutenant or whatever that fellow was, behaved as
though he was collecting material for a socialist newspaper. His
Highness was hardly in the house five minutes when there was a
loud ringing. Then, someone in heavy shoes ran up against the door
like a drunken sailor. Madame de Hauteville breaks into the room
and cries, "Your Highness, how unfortunate I am. The police are
here," she says. "Leave them alone," I say, "they will go away
presently." "Impossible," she says, "I can never permit His
Highness to be found by the police in my place. I will take the
blame upon myself entirely." Fancy the tact of that woman!
"Impossible," she says, "that His Highness should be caught in my
place."
COMMISSIONER. Really, very decent!
SCHMETTAU. Indeed it is. Immediately it dawns on me that she is
right. The situation is getting terrible. That policeman is likely
to demand His Highness' identification. What shall we do? Madame
says, "For Heaven's sake hide in the wardrobe!" Outside, that fool
is making quite a rumpus. He knocks, rings, shouts and barks. The
neighborhood is getting aroused and heads are popping out from
right and left and in the midst of this terrible commotion, there
we stand--Highness and I. What shall we do? A few moments later,
His Highness is cramped beside me in the wardrobe, in between
different pieces of woman's apparel.
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