Cabinska did not question him, and only after they had seated themselves at the pastry shop, where she regularly spent a few hours each day, drinking chocolate, smoking cigarettes, and gazing at the street crowds, did she venture to ask him with a pretended indifference: "What did you notice in that hussy's hands, Mr. Counselor?"
The counselor shifted impatiently, put his binoculars upon his nose, and called to the waiter, "Black coffee and very light chocolate!"
Then he turned to Cabinska. "You see, that is a secret . . . to be sure, one that means little, but nevertheless, not my own to disclose."
Cabinska insisted, for merely to say: "a secret," throws all women out of balance; but he told her nothing, only remarking abruptly, "I am leaving town, Mrs. Directress."
"Where are you going?" she inquired, greatly surprised.
"I must . . ." he said, "I will return in two weeks. Before I go, I would like to settle our . . ."
Cabinska frowned and waited to hear what he would say further.
"For you see, it might happen that I would return only in the fall when you will no longer be in Warsaw."
"I surmised long ago that you were an old usurer," Cabinska was thinking, tinkling her glass with a spoon.
"Some fruit cakes!" he called to the waiter and then, turning to her again, continued . . . "And that is why I wish to return to you, dear lady, your bracelet."