It was a murderous sort of smile.

I was conscious of having been taken down pretty considerably. Here was I (quite contrary to my usual custom) tricked and furbished up like a "_pet.i.t maitre_," while she, the lady, received me in her simplest barracan house-dress, without any finery, and with a smile she discharged at me the saying of the great poet:

"O Vanity! thy name is woman!"

But why, then, had she sent for me?

Why had she driven away one visitor and denied herself to another if not for my sake?

Perhaps for the sake of a third party who had already arrived? When she came out of her boudoir she seemed to me to be signalling with her eyebrows at some one.

I quickly pulled myself together. I fancy I must have been very red in the face, and I certainly had good reason to be ashamed of myself.

I saw that I had not been able to reap laurels in the _role_ of Don Juan, so I began to take up the part of Tartuffe. Let us play the righteous judge!

"Perhaps I have not come at a very convenient time?"

"On the contrary, I _asked_ you to come at this time."

"On a serious business, eh?"

"A serious business for me."

"But isn't what I've just been saying to you serious?"

"Apparently."

"Yet you received it with a very queer face."

"I listened seriously enough."

"But the affair had its cheerful aspect also, surely?"

The fair dame made a contemptuous clicking with her tongue.

"Don't you feel any interest, then, in Kvatopil's heroism, wounds, distinction, and promotion?"

"No!" she replied resolutely, almost snapping my sentence in two. Her eyes sparkled like burning naphtha lakes.

"No?" I repeated, in my amazement. "You take no interest in your husband's fate whether it be bad or good? You feel neither hot nor cold on the subject?"

"No!"

("No!" again).

"But you parted in the greatest affection when he went to the wars?"

"True."

"And it is scarcely a month since then."

"Only twenty-nine days, I've counted them."

"And meanwhile winter has come?"

"It has."

After that she began to laugh maliciously. She leaped to her feet and rumpled my frizzly hair with her fingers.

"Let's leave the matter till after dinner; then I'll tell you everything. But don't let us spoil a good dinner in the meantime. You are quite horrified at me now, and fancy that I've laid a trap for you.

You will see later on that this serious business of mine is not a joke.

Let us leave it till after the black coffee."

I revived again. The lady was capricious, and it suited her.

"I was determined to give you a good dinner. I owe you your revenge. It is a long time since we dined together. Last time I was your guest.

Don't you remember? At the Pagan Altar. I never ate so heartily. What splendid toast you had! And the bacon, too, broiled on a stick! Why, I've got the taste of that good red pepper of yours in my mouth to this day! And now I mean to give you hospitality that you will remember for a long time!"

This again was delightfully rea.s.suring! She was of the true cat species--she purrs and fondles, but one must be continually on one's guard against her claws.

"Come now, help me to lay the table! My cook has enough to do without that."

So I had to help her lay the table, for the saloon was the dining-room also. One had only to remove the books, porcelain vases, and china knick-knacks from the table in front of the sofa, and then cover it with the table-cloth.

I was curious to see how many she would lay for. Only for two. Two plates, two knives, forks and spoons, and two gla.s.ses.

But how about that third person, that person in the bedroom yonder? Or had I rightly interpreted that peculiar expression of hers? I was beginning to think the whole thing was pure hallucination on my part.

Suddenly the sc.r.a.ping of a cautiously-moved chair sounded from the boudoir.

I saw that the lady was considerably put out, and felt decidedly uncomfortable. She wrathfully pressed her lips together.

"Have you any one in the next room?" I inquired, in a stern, judicial voice.

"I have!" she replied defiantly.

"Madame!" I exclaimed, in virtuous high dudgeon.

"Would you like to know who _is_ inside?" she cried, in an offended tone.

"Oh, dear, no! I'm not a bit curious," said I, and began looking about for my hat and stick.

"But I _wish_ you to know," she cried indignantly, barring my way, and, seizing my hand, she led me to the door of the bedroom, and hastily flung it open. In the room a blonde young lady stood before me gazing at me with wondering large blue eyes.

Bessy introduced this lady to me.

"Madame Wenceslaus Kvatopil, from Cracow."