“There is nothing like a long drive in the frosty air for making one sleep,” was her quiet remark.
“By the way,” added Wilfrid with a careless air, “just as I was dropping off I fancied I heard a disturbance on the floor beneath me—a talking, or a moving of feet—muffled sounds of some sort. Was I dreaming?”
“The floor directly beneath yours would be the boyarine’s room,” said Nadia, opening her eyes wide with surprise. “Do you say the noise came from there?”
“There or near it, so at least it seemed to me. Did you hear the noise?”
“I! I was down in the kitchen getting ready some nice things for the boyarine’s breakfast.”
“Did any of the boyarine’s party complain of a noise during the night?”
“None.”
“Ah! Then I must have been dreaming.”
During this brief dialogue Wilfrid had kept his eyes on Nadia’s face, and became convinced by her natural and artless manner that she was unconscious of her blunder of the previous night.
That she was looking somewhat pale was nothing to the point, seeing that she had been up all night preparing with her own hand dainty dishes for the boyarine and her party.