"Who's there?"
"It's I—Elena," she answered timidly. "Is anything the matter? Aren't you well, sir?"
"Ah, yes," came back in a calmer voice, and after a shuffling sound as of the closing of drawers, David Rossi opened the door and came out.
As he crossed the threshold he cast a backward glance into the dark room, as if he feared that some invisible hand would touch him on the shoulder. His face was pale and beads of perspiration stood on his forehead, but he smiled, and in a voice that was a little hoarse, yet fairly under control, he said:
"I'm afraid I've frightened you, Elena."
"You're not well, sir. Sit down, and let me run for some cognac."
"No! It's nothing! Only...."
"Take this glass of water, sir."
"That's good! I'm better now, and I'm ashamed. Elena, you mustn't think any more of this, and whatever I may do in the future that seems to you to be strange, you must promise me never to mention it."
"I needn't promise you that, sir," said Elena.