“Hush, madame. Later on, towards morning; as soon”—with her head she indicated Prilukoff—“as soon as he is asleep.”
“But he never sleeps, Elise!”
Elise looked at me. “He will sleep to-night,” she said; and there was an icy hardness in her tone that I had never heard before.
“Why will he sleep? How can you know?”
Before she could answer, Prilukoff reappeared in the doorway. He had a glass of vodka in his hand.
“This accursed throat!” he said, throwing his cigarette away and putting his hand to his neck. “Everything I swallow burns and scratches me.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “You can go, Elise. I shall see to anything your mistress needs.”
Elise did not reply. With a hard, pinched face she poured the water into my glass and dropped two little bromide tablets into it. Then with her back turned to Prilukoff she fixed her eyes upon me and moved her lips: “Do not drink.” She formulated the words clearly but without sound. I stared at her in bewilderment, and she made the movement with her lips again: “Do not drink anything.” Then seeing that, notwithstanding my astonishment, I had understood her, she said respectfully: “Good night, madame,” and left the room.
She went out by the bath-room door, of which she always kept the key.
Prilukoff dropped into an armchair and yawned. “This accursed throat,” he repeated.
He poured out a glass of water from the crystal carafe on my table and swallowed it at a gulp. Then he coughed violently.