"Slightly--it will pass--it is nothing. The fatigue of the journey
perhaps," and I caressed the kind face that bent over me full of
affectionate concern.
He turned and rang the bell.
A waiter appeared. "Bring some brandy," ordered Kamarowsky. "Make haste.
The lady is not well."
The waiter returned promptly and placed the tray on the table; as he was
about to leave the room Count Kamarowsky, who was pouring out the
brandy, said to him: "Wait a moment, you can take that satchel upstairs
to the maid's apartment."
I sprang to my feet. "No--leave it," I cried, taking it from the waiter's
hand. The man bowed and left the room.
Kamarowsky seemed astonished at my behavior. "What is the matter?" he
asked. "Why are you so agitated?"
"I am not--I am not agitated at all," I stammered, trying to control my
features, and holding the odious white elephant in my trembling hands.
"What on earth is in that bag?" asked the Count.
"Nothing--nothing," I said, with a vacuous, senseless smile.
"Come, now! It is full of papers," laughed Kamarowsky, putting out his
hand and pressing the satchel between his fingers. "Confess, what are
they? Love-letters?"
I contrived to answer his jest with a smile: "You have guessed right," I
said.
"They are Elise's, I hope--not yours!" he added, half smiling and half
distrustful.
I laughed. "Elise's, of course;" and with a deep sigh of relief I sank
upon a chair, feeling that the danger was past. But my heart had not yet
resumed its normal pulsation when the door opened and the unwitting
Elise appeared on the threshold.
"We have returned, my lady, and the children have gone upstairs."
Kamarowsky jestingly took the satchel from my hand and dangled it in the
air.
"Ah, Elise! What have we got in here?"
Elise rolled her eyes wildly, and a scarlet blush mounted to her face;
Elise's blushes were always painful to see; now her face was of a deep
damask hue.