"It annoys me," said Athalie, "that she is so unimpressionable. You may scold her or laugh at her, it is all the same. She never blushes."
"That is a peculiarity of the Greek race," remarked Timar.
"Nonsense!" said Athalie, contemptuously. "It is a sign of sickliness. That artificial white complexion could be attained by any school-girl who chose to eat chalk and burned coffee-berries."
She spoke to Timar, but looked toward Herr Katschuka. He, however, was glancing at the large mirror in which one could see when Timéa came back. Athalie saw it, and it did not escape Timar's notice.
Timéa now came in, carrying a large tray of clinking glasses, her whole attention concentrated on preventing one from falling.
When Frau Sophie shrieked at her, "Take care not to drop them!" she did let the whole tray fall. Fortunately the glasses fell on the soft carpet, and did not break, but rolled about.
The mistress would have burst out in a storm, but Athalie silenced her with the words, "That was your fault; why did you scream at her? Remain here with me, Timéa; the servant shall bring the coffee."
That made Sophie angry, and she went out and brought it all in herself. But at the instant when Timéa let the glasses fall, Katschuka, with military promptitude, sprung up, collected the glasses, and put them all on the tray, still held by Timéa's trembling fingers. The girl cast a grateful look on him out of her large dark eyes, which was seen by both Athalie and Timar.
"Captain Katschuka," whispered Athalie to her fiancé, "just for a joke make the little thing fall in love with you; pretend to pay court to her; it will be great fun. Timéa, you sup with us to-night; come and sit down here by the captain."
This might be a cruel joke, or perhaps scornful raillery; or was it an ironical outbreak of awakened jealousy, or was it pure wickedness? We shall see what comes of it.