Hubertus flushed and Olga tittered, more from the obvious tension than any sense of fun; J Alfred Prufrock knew that he himself should recognise the man in the photograph with Magda Goebbels, but the name eluded him and he was keen for the Prince to say it; he was loathe to be vituperative towards the German for his hesitancy, knowing that there must be some personal reason for the lengthening silence around the table; he heard glasses clink, cutlery clatter, the whisper of waiters passing to and fro, a belly laugh from a group of business-men at the far end of the room, a tinkling laugh from a gilded woman with piled blonde hair and too much mascara at the table next to theirs, a throat cleared, banknotes crumpled, teeth bit into crackling pork, wine, schnapps and soda water swallowed, the gurgling as it went down, he glanced at Hubertus and the Prince, catching his glance, nodded: "he is my cousin, Prince Wilhelm of Prussia, grandson of the Kaiser and son of Crown Prince Wilhelm, I know he has idiosyncrasies, but idiocy – to have a long-standing affair with Frau Goebbels! to father her children! to run such risks! that is lunacy! sheer lunacy!"