Finally, the counselor released her and said to those surrounding them: "For once you might refrain from your clownishness, for sometimes it is not so foolish as it is inhuman. I beg your pardon, mademoiselle, for having exposed you to their rudeness, . . . I greatly beg your pardon, but I simply could not resist examining your hands; that is my weakness. . . ." He kissed her hand ostentatiously and turned to the surprised Cabinska: "Come, let us go, Mrs. Directress!" Janina was consumed with such curiosity, that, in spite of all those spectators, she asked quietly: "Will you not tell me anything Mr. Counselor?" The counselor gazed about him, and then bent toward Janina and whispered very quietly: "Now, I cannot . . . In two weeks, when I return, I will tell you all." "Oh come, Counselor!" cried Cabinska, "Oh, I almost forgot! . . . Will it be possible for you to come to see me after the rehearsal Miss Orlowska?" she asked, turning to Janina. "Certainly, I'll come," answered Janina, resuming her seat. "Where shall we go, Madame Directress?" asked the counselor. He seemed less jovial, and wrapt in thought. "I suppose we might go to my pastry shop." 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." "But we have not yet the money. Our success is continually being interrupted . . . we have so many old payments to meet . . ." "Oh, don't bother about the money. Imagine that I am giving you this for your name day as a small token of friendship . . . will you?" he asked, slipping the bracelet upon her plump wrist.