"The Fräulein is at last awake. Does she feel better?"
"Ah, thanks, yes," said Marishka, at last deciding that it was a woman. "I have slept long."
"Seven hours at least, and like the dead. But you must be hungry. I will prepare something at once."
"Thank you. And if I could wash my face and hands."
"It shall be as you wish. If you will but come with me——"
Marishka rose, and as she did so, the door with the black grille opened from within, and a girl came into the room. Like the older woman she wore baggy trousers and slippers, but above the waist, typifying the meeting of East and West, a somewhat soiled satin blouse which might have been made either in Paris or Vienna. The face was very pretty, regular of feature and oval in contour, but the effect of its beauty was marred by the hair above it, which was dyed with henna a saffron red. But she wore a flower at her breast, and in spite of her artificialities exhaled the gayety of youth. She smiled very prettily and came forward with a confiding air, giving Marishka her hand.
"I have been waiting for you to wake up," she said in a soft voice. "I have never known anyone to sleep so soundly."
She laughed like a child who is very much pleased with a new toy, and holding Marishka's hand, looked at her curiously from head to foot. There was something very genuine in her interest and kindliness, and Marishka found herself smiling.
"I must have been very tired," she said.
"I am sorry. You are feeling better now?"