“Of course I am going;” and I scowled at Volna and took out some money. “Where do we get the tickets?”
He was turning to show me when I let the coins fall and the cigar drop from my lips as I pressed one hand to my heart—which, by the way, was as sound as a bell—and clutched him with the other for support.
“I knew it by the look about your eyes. I saw it coming,” said Volna, unsympathetically, as she stooped to pick up the money, and the man helped me to a seat. “You will do these things. Please lay him straight down and get him some water, or better, a drop of brandy.” She took off my hat and fanned me with her handkerchief. “It’s nothing serious,” she said to the others who came round. “He’ll be better in a moment. Thank you,” this to the man who came back with the brandy. “Give him air, please.” She was most business-like and sisterly—as though I had been in the habit of fainting daily and she of restoring me.
I came round, of course; but not until the train had left and the question of our return to Bratinsk was settled.
“Perhaps you are satisfied now,” I said to Volna most ungraciously, as I sat up.
“How absurd you are, Bob. I didn’t give you the cigar.”
“When is the next train?” I asked the official.
“Not until to-night.”
“There you are,” I said to Volna with a brotherly readiness to put all the blame on her. “What now?”
“This gentleman said there was some fine scenery here; and a ride or drive would do you good.”