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At each station you will hurry to my car and ask for my orders. And now give me my furs.” After I had helped her into them, humbly like a slave, she went to find an empty first-class coupe.

Supporting herself on my shoulder, she got on and I wrapped her feet in bear-skins and placed them on the warming bottle. I slowly ascended a third-class carriage, which was filled with abominable tobacco-smoke that seemed like the fogs of Acheron at the entrance to Hades. I now had the leisure to muse about the riddle of human existence, and about its greatest riddle of all—_woman_. * * * * * Whenever the train stops, I jump off, run to her carriage, and with drawn cap await her orders. She wants coffee and then a glass of water, at another time a bowl of warm water to wash her hands, and thus it goes on. She lets several men who have entered her compartment pay court to her. I am dying of jealousy and have to leap about like an antelope so as to secure what she wants quickly and not miss the train. I haven’t had time to eat a mouthful and I can’t sleep, I have to breathe the same oniony air with Polish peasants, Jewish peddlers, and common soldiers.

When I real pin up girls porn mount the steps of her coupe, she is lying stretched out on cushions in her comfortable furs, covered up with the skins of animals. She is like an oriental despot, and the men sit like Indian deities, straight upright against the walls and scarcely dare to breathe. * * * * * She stops over in Vienna for a day to go shopping, and particularly to buy series of luxurious gowns. I follow her at the respectful distance of ten paces. She hands me her packages without so much as even deigning a kind look, and laden down like a donkey I pant along behind. Before leaving she takes all my clothes and gives them to the hotel waiters. It is a Cracovian costume in her colors, light-blue with red facings, and red quadrangular cap, ornamented with peacock-feathers. I have the feeling of having been sold or of having bonded myself to the devil. Instead of linen-garbed Mazovians and greasy-haired Jews, my companions now are curly-haired real pin up girls porn Contadini, a magnificent sergeant of the first Italian Grenadiers, and a poor German painter. The tobacco smoke no longer smells of onions, but of salami and cheese. I lie on my wooden bed as on a rack; my arms and legs seem broken. But there nevertheless is an element of poetry in the affair. The stars sparkle round about, the Italian sergeant has a face like Apollo Belvedere, and real pin up girls porn the German painter sings a lovely German song. “Now that all the shadows gather And endless stars grow light, Deep yearning on me falls And softly fills the night.” “Through the sea of dreams Sailing without cease, Sailing goes real pin up girls porn my soul In thine to find release.” And I am thinking of the beautiful woman who is sleeping in regal comfort among her soft furs. Crowds, cries, importunate porters and cab-drivers. Wanda chooses a carriage, and dismisses the porters. “What have I a servant for,” she says, “Gregor—here is the ticket—get the luggage.” She wraps herself in her furs and sits quietly in the carriage while I drag the heavy trunks hither, one after another. I break down for a moment under the last one; a good-natured _carabiniere_ with an intelligent face comes to my assistance. “It must be heavy,” said she, “all my furs are in it.” I get up on the driver’s seat, wiping drops of perspiration from my brow. She gives the name of the hotel, and the driver urges on his horse.

In a few minutes we halt at the brilliantly illuminated entrance.

“Yes, madame.” “Two for me, one for my servant, all with stoves.” “Two first-class rooms for you, madame, both with stoves,” replied the waiter who had hastily come up, “and one without heat for your servant.” She looked at them, and then abruptly said: “they are satisfactory, have fires built at once; my servant can sleep in the unheated room.” I merely looked at her. “Bring up the trunks, Gregor,” she commands, paying no attention to my looks. “In the meantime I’ll be dressing, and then will go down to the dining-room, and you can eat something for supper.” As she goes into the adjoining room, I drag the trunks upstairs and help the waiter build a fire in her bed-room. He tries to question me in bad French about my employer. With a brief real pin up girls porn glance I see the blazing fire, the fragrant white poster-bed, and the rugs which cover the floor. Tired and hungry I then descend the stairs, and ask for something to eat.

A good-natured waiter, who used to be in the Austrian army and takes all sorts of pains to entertain me in German, shows me the dining-room and waits on me. I have just had the first fresh drink in thirty-six hours and the first bite of warm food on my fork, when she enters.

“What do you mean by taking me into a dining-room in which my servant is eating,” she snaps at the waiter, flaring with anger. Meanwhile I thank heaven that I am permitted to go on eating. Later I climb the four flights upstairs to my room. My small trunk is already there, and a miserable little oil-lamp is burning. It is a narrow room without fire-place, without a window, but real pin up girls porn with a small air-hole. If it weren’t so beastly cold, it would remind me of one of the Venetian _piombi_.4 Involuntarily I have to laugh out aloud, so that it re-echoes, and I am startled by my own laughter.