Marie Tarnowska

He filled my purse with gold, and made me promise that I would always ask him for anything I might need or desire.

How well I remember our arrival at Orel! It was a radiant afternoon in October. Count Kamarowsky accompanied us to our hotel, where flower-filled apartments awaited us; then he left us at once to go in search of a young friend of his, the son of the Governor of Orel, who had promised to see to our passports as soon as we arrived.

I was alone in our drawing-room when Elise knocked at the door.

“The children would like to go out; they say they feel cramped from the journey,” she said. “If madame allows, I will take them into the park; it is just opposite the hotel,” she added.

“Certainly, Elise.”

A moment later Tioka and Grania, ready to go out, came running to embrace me, and behind them Elise reappeared.

“If madame permits,” she said in a low voice, “I might perhaps leave 'it' here?”

“It” was the black leather satchel—our white elephant.

“Yes, yes; leave it,” I said.

And she carried it into my bedroom and placed it on the dressing-table.

XXIX

I stepped out upon the balcony and watched the children cross the sunlit square; they turned and waved their hands to me; then I saw them enter the park and scamper down the shady avenue, the faithful Elise trotting quickly in their wake.

I remained on the balcony wrapped in peaceful thoughts, glad to feel the warmth of the autumn sun on my shoulders and the coolness of the autumn breeze on my cheeks. A wave of thankfulness came over me; repentance for all my past doubts and transgressions flooded my heart.

How could I ever have doubted Paul Kamarowsky's love? Was not the absolute faith he reposed in me—the blind unquestioning faith that in my folly I had often resented—was it not after all the highest homage that a noble heart could bestow? Henceforth the aim of my life should be to render myself worthy of his trust and love. In utter gratitude and devotion my heart went out to him who was about to place in my keeping the honor of his unsullied name, and the care of his motherless child. I clasped my hands and breathed a fervent prayer to Heaven, a prayer that I might deserve the happiness that was in store for me.

A slight sound startled me from my reverie. It was Kamarowsky who, having returned and not finding me in the drawing-room, had knocked at my bedroom door. Receiving no reply he entered. I left the balcony, and closing the window after me, stepped into the room.

Kamarowsky was standing in front of the dressing-table holding the black leather satchel in his hand.

“What is this?” he asked casually. “Is it yours?”

The pitiless light from the window struck me full in the face, and I felt that I was turning pale. “No—no—” I stammered. “It is not mine.”

“I thought not,” he said, turning it round and round. “I did not remember seeing it. We had better send it down to the bureau of the hotel.” And he stepped forward to touch the bell.

“No, no!” I cried, “it belongs to Elise.”

“Why does Elise leave her things in your room?” Then noticing my pallor and agitation he exclaimed: “Why, dearest? What is wrong with you? You look quite white.”

“It is nothing, nothing,” I said, attempting to smile; and I sat down with my back to the light. I was trembling from head to foot.

He bent over me with tender solicitude. “Are you feeling ill?”

“Slightly—it will pass—it is nothing. The fatigue of the journey perhaps,” and I caressed the kind face that bent over me full of affectionate concern.

He turned and rang the bell.

A waiter appeared. “Bring some brandy,” ordered Kamarowsky. “Make haste. The lady is not well.”

The waiter returned promptly and placed the tray on the table; as he was about to leave the room Count Kamarowsky, who was pouring out the brandy, said to him: “Wait a moment, you can take that satchel upstairs to the maid's apartment.”

I sprang to my feet. “No—leave it,” I cried, taking it from the waiter's hand. The man bowed and left the room.

Kamarowsky seemed astonished at my behavior. “What is the matter?” he asked. “Why are you so agitated?”

“I am not—I am not agitated at all,” I stammered, trying to control my features, and holding the odious white elephant in my trembling hands.

“What on earth is in that bag?” asked the Count.

“Nothing—nothing,” I said, with a vacuous, senseless smile.

“Come, now! It is full of papers,” laughed Kamarowsky, putting out his hand and pressing the satchel between his fingers. “Confess, what are they? Love-letters?”

I contrived to answer his jest with a smile: “You have guessed right,” I said.

“They are Elise's, I hope—not yours!” he added, half smiling and half distrustful.

I laughed. “Elise's, of course;” and with a deep sigh of relief I sank upon a chair, feeling that the danger was past. But my heart had not yet resumed its normal pulsation when the door opened and the unwitting Elise appeared on the threshold.

“We have returned, my lady, and the children have gone upstairs.”

Kamarowsky jestingly took the satchel from my hand and dangled it in the air.

“Ah, Elise! What have we got in here?”

Elise rolled her eyes wildly, and a scarlet blush mounted to her face; Elise's blushes were always painful to see; now her face was of a deep damask hue.

The Count laughed. “So this is where you keep your love-letters, is it?”

“Oh, no, sir,” exclaimed Elise, blushing till her eyes were filled with tears.

“What? Is this satchel not yours?”

“Oh, no, sir!—I mean—yes, sir,” stuttered Elise.

Kamarowsky looked at her, and then at me. Seeing the expression of our faces the laughter faded from his lips.

“Come, Elise; tell me whose it is, and what it contains.”

I attempted to make a sign to her, but the tall, broad figure of Count Kamarowsky stood between us.

I rose with a sigh of despair, acquiescing in my fate. Now—let happen what may.

“What letters are they?” insisted Kamarowsky.

I heard the hapless Elise floundering in the quicksands of falsehood; finally she let herself drift—a helpless wreck on the rock of truth.