It was her loss, and yet she showed this cheerful alacrity.
The little party had now entered the living room. The countess sat on the window sill, while flash after flash of lightning blazed, and peal after peal crashed from the sky. She no longer thought of herself, only of the poor woman outside. The little girl wept softly over her poor mother's exposure to the storm, and slipped to the door to wait for her. The prince, shivering, sat on the bench by the stove. Gross, noticing it, put on more fuel "that the gentleman might dry himself." A bright fire was soon crackling in the huge green stove, the main support of the sunken ceiling.
"Pray charge the fuel to me," said the prince, ashamed.
The old man smiled.
"How you gentle-folks want to pay for everything. We should have needed a fire ourselves." With these words he left the room. The thin sister now thought it desirable not to disturb the strangers and also went out.
"Tell me, Countess," the prince began, leaning comfortably against the warm stove, "may I perfume this, by no means agreeable, atmosphere with a cigarette?"
"Certainly, I had forgotten that there were such things as cigarettes in the world."
"So it seems to me," said the prince, coolly. "Tell me, chère amie, now that you have duly enjoyed all the tremors of this romantic situation, how should you like a cup of tea?"
"Tea?" said the countess, looking at him as if just roused from a dream, "tea!"
"Yes, tea," persisted the prince. "My poor friend, you must have lived an eternity in this one hour among these 'savages' to have already lost the memory of one of the best products of civilization."