“Which overlooks my gardens?” rejoins Dourlinski, interrupting him with great agitation.
“The shutters are well fastened,” adds the other.
“No matter————You must put them elsewhere.” These words made me tremble.
“It is not possible, but,”———continues the confident, and then whispered the rest of the sentence in his ear.
“Right,” says the Baron; “and let it be done instantly.” Then, addressing himself to me, “know that your brother and you must depart the day after to-morrow: before you go, you shall see me again, and I will give you a letter for Pulaski.”
I then went to rejoin Boleslas in the kitchen, where he was at breakfast, who soon after presented me with a little bottle full of ink, several pens, and some sheets of paper, which he had procured without difficulty. I panted with desire to write to Lodoiska; and the only difficulty that now remained, was to find a commodious place where I might not be discovered by the curiosity of Dourlinski’s people.
They had already informed Boleslas that we could not again be admitted into the apartment where we had spent the preceding night, until the time should arrive when we were to retire to rest. I soon, however, bethought myself of a stratagem which succeeded to admiration.
The servants were drinking with my pretended brother, and politely invited me to help them to empty a few flasks.
I swallowed, with a good grace, several glasses of bad wine in succession: in a few minutes my legs seemed to totter, my tongue faltered: I related a hundred pleasant and improbable tales to the joyous company; in a word, I acted the drunken man so well, that Boleslas himself became a dupe to my scheme, and actually trembled lest, in a moment when I seemed disposed to communicate every thing, my secret should escape.
(To be continued.)