“Telephone,” said her mistress, “and order me a taxi.”
“You? You a taxi?” cried Gianetta. “But that is mad!”
“Quick, Gianetta!”
“But you are very ill! With this rheumatism, you can’t walk! How do you think then that you—”
“Quick, Gianetta!”
“Patience! Patience!” said Gianetta, in her most annoying tone. “I order this taxi, but you cannot get into it. It is only a waste of money. No matter—you are the mistress. I telephone!”
“Now!” said the old lady to herself. “I must get up. Leo always said that what one ought to do, one would find strength for. I must do this. For one minute more I shall sit quietly here, and then I shall rise and get myself ready.”
She clasped her hands in her lap and laid her head against the back of the chair, looking out at the sky, now quite dark. Then, with a long sigh, she grasped the arms and slowly raised herself to her feet.
Gianetta, coming in again, gave a loud shriek.
“Silence, you foolish one,” said the old lady. “Get me my cloak and hat.”