“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.