"You will go, nurse, for my dress to Sowinska on Widok Street. Do you know where it is? . . ." "Of course, I know! . . . That skinny woman who's as cross as a chained dog. . . ." "Go right away." "Mamma! . . . let us also go with nurse . . ." begged the children, for they feared their mother. "You will take the children along with you, nurse." "Of course, that's understood . . . I wouldn't leave them here alone!" She dressed the children, put on a sort of woolen dress with broad red and white stripes, covered her head with a kerchief, and went out with them. Cabinska dressed and was about to go out, when the bell rang. A small, rather corpulent and very active gentleman pushed his way in. It was the counselor. His face was carefully shaven, he wore gold-rimmed glasses on his small nose, and a smile, that seemed glued there, on his thin lips. "May I come in? . . . Will Madame Directress permit it? . . . Only for a minute, for I must be right off again! . . ." he recited rapidly. "Of course, the esteemed counselor is always welcome. . . ." called Cabinska, appearing. "Good morning! Pray let me kiss your little hand. . . . You look charming to-day. I merely dropped in here on my way . . ." "Please be seated." The counselor sat down, wiped his glasses with his handkerchief, smoothed his very sparse, but ungrayed black hair, hastily crossed his legs, and blinked a few times with neuralgic eyes. "I read in to-day's Messenger a very flattering mention about you, Madame Directress." "It's unmerited, for I don't know how that role ought to be played." "You played it beautifully, wonderfully!" "Oh, you're a naughty flatterer, Mr. Counselor! . . ." she chided. "I speak nothing but the truth, the unadulterated truth, my word of honor!" "Please ma'am it is already noon," interrupted the nurse, who had returned. "You are bound for the theater, Madame Directress?" "Yes, I'll drop in to see the rehearsal, and then take a walk about town." "Then we will go together, agreed? . . ." asked the counselor. "On the way we shall settle a little piece of business." Cabinska glanced at him uneasily. He was again blinking his eyes, crossing his feet, and adjusting his glasses which had a habit of continually slipping off. "No doubt he wants that money, . . ." thought Cabinska, as they were going down the stairs. The counselor, in the meanwhile, was smiling and chirping away in honeyed tones.