The Count chose vodka, and his wants having been supplied, the lady bade Roko retire.
‘I owe you an apology, madame,’ began the Count. ‘I forgot myself last night. It was good of you to take care of me. I am deeply indebted to you for your hospitality.’
‘Oh, a mere trifle,’ smiled the lady. ‘My faithful slave found you asleep in a chair, and as his efforts failed to awaken you, he carried you upstairs by my orders.’
At this point in the conversation the door opened, and Vlassovsky appeared on the threshold; but seeing that madame had a visitor, he quickly withdrew.
‘I am sorry to say I am the victim of a strange weakness,’ answered the Count. ‘I am a temperate man, but should I be tempted to indulge beyond my ordinary allowance it throws me into a sort of coma, from which I only recover after many hours of death-like sleep.’
‘You are to be pitied, Count.’
‘Your pity is worth having,’ he answered. ‘Now, tell me, madame, what penalty am I to pay for having so far forgotten myself?’
‘Penalty, Count!’
‘Yes. I am wealthy. Money is no object to me. I have notes. I am almost alone in the world.’
‘Indeed!’ exclaimed the lady, with animation, and regarding her guest with new-born interest; ‘you are fortunate. I presume you are staying here temporarily?’