How did we three hapless, terrified creatures manage to escape from the
hotel that night?
Tioka, wakened out of his sleep at three o'clock, kept on whimpering.
"Where are we going? I am afraid. I want Papa Paul! Call Papa Paul."
As we descended the dark staircase a night porter, dozing in the hall,
started up and came towards us, blinking and yawning. When he caught
sight of Elise, laden with shawls and medicine bottles--which constituted
all our luggage--he seemed greatly astonished.
For a moment no one spoke. Then: "I am feeling ill," I said. "We are
going to the doctor. Please call a carriage for me."
"But excuse me, madame," stammered the man. "Had I not better telephone
to the doctor to come to the hotel?" His eyes wandered suspiciously from
me to the lachrymose Tioka, and from Tioka to Elise and her burdens.
"Open the door," said Elise authoritatively, "and call a carriage, at
once."
The man shook his head.
Then I saw Elise gather all the shawls into a heap on her left arm, as
with her right hand she searched for something under her cloak. She drew
out a crumpled piece of paper, and with a gesture of solemn deliberation
she proffered it to the man. It was a banknote of a hundred rubles.
The man took the note, stared at it, and turned it round and round in
his fingers. Then he raised his eyes and gazed in stupefaction at Elise.
"Open that door and call a carriage," commanded Elise, in a thin voice.
The man obeyed. As the large door swung back we could see that it was
nearly dawn; the sound of distant church bells came to us across the
clear, keen air. Elise raised her hand to her forehead and made the sign
of the cross.... She had plundered the white elephant!
Oh, Elise Perrier, not least among my great pangs of remorse is the
thought that I have dragged you down into my own dishonor. For me and
through me, your honest hard-working hand and your innocent soul were
stained with guilt.
While we stood waiting for the man to return, I thought I heard a door
open and close overhead.