The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [224]
Wokulski’s expression was so astounded that Hannibale Escabeau, himself, began wondering: ‘Surely I have not made a mistake?’ the visitor asked.
‘You have,’ said Wokulski, ‘I’m a haberdashery merchant, and rifles do not concern me at all.’
‘But I was told—in confidence…’ said Escabeau significantly, ‘that you gentlemen…’
‘You were misinformed…’
‘Ah, so? In that case, my apologies…It must be another room,’ said the visitor, bowing as he retired.
The blue frock-coat and white trousers reappeared with another visitor: this time he was a small, lean, dark man with restless eyes. He almost ran up to the table, dropped into a chair, peered around at the door, then moved closer to Wokulski and began in a low voice: ‘Very likely this will surprise you, sir…But the matter is urgent…too urgent…In the past few days I have made a tremendous discovery in roulette…All it requires is to double the stake six or seven times…’
‘Forgive me, sir, but I am not interested,’ Wokulski interrupted.
‘You don’t trust me? Naturally…But I have a roulette wheel here, we might try…’
‘Excuse me, sir, I haven’t time now.’
‘Three minutes, sir…One minute…’
‘Not even half a minute.’
‘So when am I to come back?’ asked the visitor, with a very desperate look.
‘Not soon, at any rate.’
‘Sir, at least lend me a hundred francs to make an official test…’
‘I can spare you five,’ Wokulski replied, putting a hand into his pocket.
‘Oh no, sir—thank you…I am no trickster…But perhaps…Please give me it…I’ll repay you tomorrow. You may change your mind in the meantime.’
The next visitor, an impressively stout individual, wearing a row of miniature medals, offered Wokulski the diploma of a Doctor of Philosophy, or a title of nobility, and seemed very surprised when his offer was declined. He left without even saying good-bye.
A short interval followed. Wokulski seemed to catch the rustle of a woman’s gown in the waiting-room. He listened intently. At this moment the footman announced the Baroness.
Another long pause, then a woman appeared in the drawing-room, so beautiful and distinguished that Wokulski involuntarily rose to his feet. She might have been about forty: of imposing stature, with very regular features and the attitude of a great lady. He showed her a chair in silence. But as she sat down, he noticed she was agitated and clutching at a lace handkerchief. Looking suddenly into his eyes, she asked: ‘Do you recognise me?’
‘No, madam.’
‘Have you never even seen any of my portraits?’
‘No.’
‘Then you can never have been to Berlin or Vienna?’
‘No, never.’
The woman sighed deeply. ‘So much the better,’ she said, ‘I’ll be bolder…I am not a Baroness at all…I am someone entirely different. But less of that. I find myself temporarily in an embarrassment. I need twenty thousand francs…But as I don’t want to pawn my jewellery, so…Do you understand me?’
‘No, madam.’
‘Well…I have an important secret to dispose of…’
‘I have no right to acquire secrets,’ Wokulski replied, already embarrassed.
The woman shifted in her chair: ‘No right, sir? Then why are you here?’ she said, with a slight smile.
‘I haven’t the right, all the same…’
The lady rose. ‘This,’ she said, excitedly, ‘is an address where you can contact me within twenty-four hours, and here is a note which may give you cause to think…Good-bye.’
She went out with a rustle of her gown. Wokulski glanced at the note and found it contained those details of himself and Suzin which are usually shown in passports. ‘Hm,’ he thought, ‘Miller and she read my passport and made a note of its contents, not without mistakes, either—Wokulsky, indeed! Confound it! Do they take me for a child?’
As no more visitors appeared, Wokulski summoned Jumart: ‘Your wish, sir?’ asked the elegant secretary.
‘I want to talk to you…’
‘In confidence? In that case, allow me to take a seat…The performance is over;