Mme. Petroff burst into a peal of derisive laughter.
"Unwell, is he?" she retorted. "He'll be worse presently, I can promise you!" Then her eyes fell on the magnificent uniform her husband was wearing.
"'PLEASE DON'T LET HER HIT ME,' SHRIEKED PETROFF, TRYING TO HIDE BEHIND HIS COMPANION."
"What drunken freak is this?" she cried. "How dare you dress up as an officer, you silly old guy?"
Mr. Gorshine's face grew suddenly pale.
"I beg you not to be angry with his Highness," he exclaimed. "His adjutants, Major Romanoff and Captain Marckovitch, will probably be here directly."
Mme. Petroff snorted indignantly.
"I believe you're drunk, too. Since when, pray, has my husband been a Highness? He was Petroff, the bootmaker, this morning."
Mr. Gorshine sank into a chair, overwhelmed with horror.