I STEPPED OUT UPON THE BALCONY
“It is nothing, nothing,” I said, attempting to smile; and I sat down with my back to the light. I was trembling from head to foot.
He bent over me with tender solicitude. “Are you feeling ill?”
“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.