“But then he will come here.”
“You will say that you cannot receive him.”
And that was what took place. And not on that evening only. Prilukoff installed himself, during long days and evenings, in my apartments, and refused to go away. Very often he did not even allow me to go out of the room.
Then came Count Kamarowsky knocking at the door.
“No! no! You cannot come in!” cried Elise Perrier, pale and trembling, leaning against the locked door.
“But why? Why? What has happened?”
“Nothing has happened. Madame is not feeling well,” Elise would reply, in quavering tones.
“But that is all the more reason why I should see her,” protested the Count. “I must see her!”
“It is impossible!” And Elise, whom fear rendered well-nigh voiceless, would roll towards me her round, despairing eyes.
Then the Count would speak to me through the closed door, entreating and arguing; and every time he used a tender expression Prilukoff, who held me fast, pinched my arm.