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diff --git a/18651-h/18651-h.htm b/18651-h/18651-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e5353d4 --- /dev/null +++ b/18651-h/18651-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7125 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Cigarette-Maker's Romance, by F. Marion Crawford + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + /*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ + <!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h1 {text-align: center; clear: both; font-size: 180%;} + h2 {text-align: center; clear: both; font-size: 120%;} + table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; text-align: center;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} + hr.full {width:100%; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.major {width:75%; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.minor {width:30%; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; + padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; + font-size: 90% } + ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + .figright {float: right; text-align: center; margin: .8em 0 0 0;} + .caption {font-size: 80%;} + .smcap {font-variant:small-caps} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's A Cigarette-Maker's Romance, by F. Marion Crawford + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Cigarette-Maker's Romance + +Author: F. Marion Crawford + +Release Date: June 22, 2006 [EBook #18651] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CIGARETTE-MAKER'S ROMANCE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<table width="420" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="" border="1"> + <col style="width:100%;" /> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span style="font-size: 175%;"><br/>A CIGARETTE-MAKER'S<br/>ROMANCE</span><br /><br /><br /> + <span style="font-size: 80%;">BY</span><br /><br /> + <span style="font-size: 100%;">F. MARION CRAWFORD</span><br /> + <span style="font-size: 70%;">AUTHOR OF "MR. ISAACS," "DR. CLAUDIUS," "A ROMAN SINGER"<br/>ETC.</span><br/><br /><br /><br/><br /><br /> + <span style="font-size: 100%;">New York</span><br /> + <span style="font-size: 120%;">MACMILLAN AND CO.</span><br /> + <span style="font-size: 80%;">AND LONDON</span><br /> + <span style="font-size: 100%;">1894</span><br /><br /> + <span style="font-size: 80%;">All rights reserved</span><br /> + </td> + </tr> +</table> + +<hr class='major' /> +<table width="420" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="" border="0"> + <col style="width:100%;" /> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span style="font-size: 80%;"><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1890,</span><br /> + <span style="font-size: 80%;"><span class="smcap">By</span> F. MARION CRAWFORD</span><br /><br/> + <span style="font-size: 80%;">Set up and electrotyped May, 1893. Reprinted July, 1894.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /> + <span style="font-size: 80%;">Norwood Press:</span><br/> + <span style="font-size: 80%;">J. S. Cushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith.</span><br /> + <span style="font-size: 80%;">Boston, Mass., U.S.A.</span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<h2><a name="Contents" id="Contents"></a>Contents</h2> +<div class="smcap"> +<table border="0" width="500" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<col style="width:70%;" /> +<col style="width:30%;" /> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER I.</td><td align="right"><a href="#r2592">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER II.</td><td align="right"><a href="#r2966">25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER III.</td><td align="right"><a href="#r7021">48</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER IV.</td><td align="right"><a href="#r2332">72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER V.</td><td align="right"><a href="#r9884">96</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VI.</td><td align="right"><a href="#r7044">121</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VII.</td><td align="right"><a href="#r9806">145</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VIII.</td><td align="right"><a href="#r4233">168</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER IX.</td><td align="right"><a href="#r6930">191</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER X.</td><td align="right"><a href="#r6118">214</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XI.</td><td align="right"><a href="#r4579">240</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XII.</td><td align="right"><a href="#r5556">264</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<h1>A CIGARETTE-MAKER'S ROMANCE.</h1> + +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="r2592" id="r2592"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> +</div> + +<p>The inner room of a tobacconist's shop is not perhaps the spot which a +writer of fiction would naturally choose as the theatre of his play, nor +does the inventor of pleasant romances, of stirring incident, or moving +love-tales feel himself instinctively inclined to turn to Munich as to +the city of his dreams. On the other hand, it is by no means certain +that, if the choice of a stage for our performance were offered to the +most contented among us, we should be satisfied to speak our parts and +go through our actor's business upon the boards of this world. Some +would prefer to take their properties, their player's crowns and robes, +their aspiring expressions and their finely expressed aspirations before +the audience of a larger planet; others, perhaps the majority, would +choose, with more humility as well as with more common sense, the +shadowy scenery, the softer footlights and the less exigent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> public of a +modest asteroid, beyond the reach of our earthly haste, of our noisy and +unclean high-roads to honour, of our furious chariot races round the +goals of fame, and, especially, beyond the reach of competition. But we +have no choice. We are in the world and, before we know where we are, we +are on one of the paths which we must traverse in our few score years +between birth and death. Moreover, each man's path leads up to the +theatre on the one side and down from it on the other. The inexorable +manager, Fate, requires that each should go through with his comedy or +his drama, if he be judged worthy of a leading part, with his scene or +his act in another man's piece, if he be fit only to play the walking +gentleman, the dumb footman, or the mechanically trained supernumerary +who does duty by turns as soldier, sailor, courtier, husbandman, +conspirator or red-capped patriot. A few play well, many play badly, all +must appear and the majority are feebly applauded and loudly hissed. He +counts himself great who is received with such an uproar of clapping and +shout of approval as may drown the voice of the discontented; he is +called fortunate who, having missed his cue and broken down in his +words, makes his exit in the triumphant train of the greater actor upon +whom all eyes are turned; he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> is deemed happy who, having offended no +man, is allowed to depart in peace upon his downward road. Yet none of +these players need pride themselves much upon their success nor take to +heart their failure. Long before most of them have slipped into the +grave which waits at the foot of the hill, and have been wrapped +comfortably in the pleasant earth, their names are forgotten by those +who screamed with pleasure or hooted in disgust at their performance, +their faces are no longer remembered, their great drama is become an +old-fashioned mummery of the past. Why should they care? Their work is +done, they have been rewarded or punished, paid with praise and gold or +mulcted in the sum of their reputation and estate. Famous or infamous, +in honour or in disrepute, in riches or in poverty, they have reached +the end of their time, they are worn out, the world will have no more of +them, they are worthless in the price-scale of men, they must be buried +out of sight and they will be forgotten out of mind. The beginning is +the same for all, and the end also, and as for the future, who shall +tell us upon what basis of higher intelligence our brief passage across +the stage is to be judged? Why then should the present trouble our +vanity so greatly? And if our play is of so little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> importance, why +should we care whether the scenery is romantic instead of commonplace, +or why should we make furious efforts to shift a Gothic castle, a +drawbridge, a moat and a waterfall into the slides occupied by the four +walls of a Munich tobacconist's shop?</p> + +<p>There is not even anything especial in the appearance of the place to +recommend it to the ready pen of the word-painter. It is an +establishment of very modest pretensions situated in one of the side +streets leading to a great thoroughfare. As we are in Munich, however, +the side street is broad and clean, the pavement is well swept and the +adjoining houses have an air of solid respectability and wealth. At the +point where the street widens to an irregular shape on the downward +slope there is a neat little iron kiosque completely covered with +brilliant advertisements, printed in black Gothic letters upon red and +yellow paper. The point of vivid colour is not disagreeable, for it +relieves the neutral tints of brick and brown stone, and arrests the +eye, long wearied with the respectable parade of buildings. The +tobacconist's shop is, indeed, the most shabby, or, to speak more +correctly, the least smartly new among its fellow-shops, wherein dwell, +in consecutive order, a barber, a watchmaker,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> a pastry-cook, a +shoemaker and a colour-man. In spite of its unattractive exterior, +however, the establishment of "Christian Fischelowitz, from South +Russia," enjoys a very considerable reputation. Within the high, narrow +shop there is good store of rare tobaccos, from the mild Kir to the +Imperial Samson, the aromatic Dubec and the pungent Swary. The dusty +window beside the narrow door exhibits, it is true, only a couple of +tall, dried tobacco plants set in flower-pots, a carelessly arranged +collection of cedar and pasteboard boxes for cigars and cigarettes, and +a fantastically constructed Swiss cottage, built entirely of cigarettes +and fine cut yellow leaf, with little pieces of glass set in for +windows. This effort of architecture is in a decidedly ruinous +condition, the little stuffed paper cylinders are ragged and torn, some +of them show signs of detaching themselves from the cardboard frame upon +which they are pasted, and the dust of years has accumulated upon the +bit of painted board which serves as a foundation for the chalet. In one +corner of the window an object more gaudy but not more useful attracts +the eye. It is the popular doll figure commonly known in Germany as the +"Wiener Gigerl" or "Vienna fop." It is doubtful whether any person could +appear in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> the public places of Vienna in such a costume without being +stoned or otherwise painfully put to a shameful death. The doll is +arrayed in black shorts and silk stockings, a wide white waistcoat, a +scarlet evening coat, an enormous collar and a white tall hat with a +broad brim. He stands upon one foot, raising the other as though in the +act of beginning a minuet; he holds in one hand a stick and in the other +a cigarette, a relatively monstrous eye-glass magnifies one of his +painted eyes and upon his face is such an expression of combined +insolence, vulgarity, dishonesty and conceit as would insure his being +shot at sight in any Western American village making the least pretence +to self-respect. On high days and holidays Christian Fischelowitz +inserts a key into the square black pedestal whereon the doll has its +being, and the thing lives and moves, turns about and cocks its +impertinent head at the passers-by, while a feeble tune of uncertain +rhythm is heard grating itself out upon the teeth of the metal comb in +the concealed mechanism. Fischelowitz delights in this monstrosity, and +is never weary of watching its detestable antics. It is doubtful whether +in the simplicity of his good-natured heart he does not really believe +that the Wiener Gigerl may attract<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> a stray customer to his counter and, +in the long-run, pay for itself. For it cost him money, and in itself, +as a thing of beauty, it hardly covers the bad debt contracted with him +by a poor fellow-countryman to whom he kindly lent fifty marks last +year. He accepted the doll without a murmur, however, in full discharge +of the obligation, and with an odd philosophy peculiar to himself, he +does his best to get what amusement he can out of the little red-coated +figure without complaining and without bitterness.</p> + +<p>Christian's wife, his larger if not his better half, is less complacent. +In the publicity of the shop her small black eyes cast glances full of +hate upon the innocent Gigerl, her full flat face reddens with anger +when she remembers the money, and her fat hands would dash the insolent +little figure into the street, if her mercantile understanding did not +suggest the possibility of ultimately selling it for something. In view +of such a fortunate contingency, and whenever she is alone, she +carefully dusts the thing and puts it away in the cupboard in the +corner, well knowing that Fischelowitz will return in an hour, will take +it out, set it in its place, wind it up and watch its performance with +his everlasting, good-humoured, satisfied smile. In<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> public she ventures +only to abuse the doll. In the silent watches of the night she directs +her sharp speeches at Christian himself. Not that she is altogether +miserly, nor by any means an ill-disposed person. Had she been of such a +disposition her husband would not have married her, for he is a very +good man of business and a keen judge of other wares besides tobacco. +She is a good mother and a good housewife, energetic, thrifty, and of +fairly even temper; but that particular piece of generosity which +resulted in the acquisition of a red-coated puppet in exchange for fifty +marks fills her heart with anger and her plump brown fingers with an +itching desire to scratch and tear something or somebody as a means of +satisfying her vengeance. For the poor fellow-countryman was one of the +Count's friends, and Akulina Fischelowitz abhors the Count and loathes +him, and the Wiener Gigerl was the beginning of the end.</p> + +<p>While Christian is watching his doll, and Akulina is seated behind the +counter, her hands folded upon her lap, and her eyes darting unquiet +glances at her husband, the Count is busily occupied in making +cigarettes in the dingy back shop among a group of persons, both young +and old, all similarly occupied. It is not to be expected that the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +workroom should be cleaner or more tastefully decorated than the +counting-house, and in such a business as the manufacture of cigarettes +by hand litter of all sorts accumulates rapidly. The "Famous Cigarette +Manufactory of Christian Fischelowitz from South Russia" is about as +dingy, as unhealthy, as untidy, as dusty a place as can be found within +the limits of tidy, well-to-do Munich. The room is lighted by a window +and a half-glazed door, both opening upon a dark court. The walls, +originally whitewashed, are of a deep rich brown, attributable partly to +the constant fumes and exhalations of tobacco, partly to the fine brown +dust of the dried refuse cuttings, and partly to the admirable +smoke-giving qualities of the rickety iron stove which stands in one +corner, and in which a fire is daily attempted during more than half the +year. There are many shelves upon the walls too, and the white wood of +these has also received into itself the warm, deep colour. Upon two of +these shelves there are accumulations of useless articles, a cracked +glass vase, once the pride of the show window, when it was filled to +overflowing with fine cut leaf, a broken-down samovar which has seen +tea-service in many cities, from Kiew to Moscow, from Moscow to Vilna, +from Vilna to Berlin, from Berlin to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> Munich; there are fragments of +Russian lacquered wooden bowls, wrecked cigar-boxes, piles of dingy +handbills left over from the last half-yearly advertisement, a crazy +Turkish narghile, the broken stem of a chibouque, an old hat and an odd +boot, besides irregularly shaped parcels, wrapped in crumpled brown +paper and half buried in dust. Upon the other shelves are arranged more +neatly rows of tin boxes with locks, and reams of still uncut cigarette +paper, some white, some straw-coloured.</p> + +<p>Round about the room are the seats of the workers. One man alone is +standing at his task, a man with a dark, Cossack face, high cheek-bones, +honest, gleaming black eyes, straggling hair and ragged beard. In his +shirt-sleeves, his arms bare to the elbow, he handles the heavy swivel +knife, pressing the package of carefully arranged leaves forward and +under the blade by almost imperceptible degrees. It is one of the most +delicate operations in the art, and the man has an especial gift for the +work. So sensitive is his strong right hand that as the knife cuts +through the thick pile he can detect the presence of a scrap of thin +paper amongst the tobacco, and not a bit of hardened stem or a twisted +leaf escapes him. It is very hard work, even for a strong man, and the +moisture stands in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> great drops on his dark forehead as he carefully +presses the sharp instrument through the resisting substance, quickly +lifts it up again and pushes on the package for the next cut.</p> + +<p>At a small black table near by sits a Polish girl, poorly dressed, her +heavy red-brown hair braided in one long neat tress, her face deadly +white, her blue eyes lustreless and sunken, her thin fingers actively +rolling bits of paper round a glass tube, drawing them off as the edges +are gummed together, and laying them in a prettily arranged pile before +her. She is Vjera, the shell-maker, invariably spoken of as "poor +Vjera." Vjera, being interpreted from the Russian, means "Faith." There +is an odd and pathetic irony in the name borne by the sickly girl. +Faith—faith in what? In shell-making? In Christian Fischelowitz? In +Johann Schmidt, the Cossack tobacco-cutter, whose real name is lost in +the gloom of many dim wanderings? In life? In death? Who knows? In God, +at least, poor child—and in her wretched existence there is little else +left for her to believe in. If you ask her whether she believes in the +Count, she will turn away rather hastily, but in that case the wish to +believe is there.</p> + +<p>Beside Vjera sits another girl, less pale perhaps,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> but more +insignificant in feature, and similarly occupied, with this slight +difference that the little cylinders she makes are straw-coloured when +Vjera is making white ones, and white when her companion is using +straw-coloured paper. On the opposite side of the room, also before +small black tables, sit two men, to wit, Victor Ivanowitch Dumnoff and +the Count. It is their business to shape the tobacco and to insert it +into the shells, a process performed by rolling the cut leaf into a +cylinder in a tongue-shaped piece of parchment, which, when ready, has +the form of a pencil, and is slipped into the shell. The parchment is +then withdrawn, and the tobacco remains behind in its place; the little +bunch of threads which protrudes at each end is cut off with sharp +scissors and the cigarette is finished.</p> + +<p>The Count, on the afternoon of the day on which this story opens, was +sitting before his little black table in his usual attitude, his head +stooping slightly forward, his elbows supported on each side of him, his +long fingers moving quickly and skilfully, his greyish blue eyes fixed +intently on his work. At five o'clock in the afternoon on Tuesday, the +sixth of May, in the present year of grace one thousand eight hundred +and ninety, the Count was rapidly approaching the two-thousandth +cigarette<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> of that day's work. Two thousand in a day was his limit; and +though he boasted that he could make three thousand between dawn and +midnight, if absolutely necessary, yet he confessed that among the last +five hundred a few might be found in which the leaves would be too +tightly rolled or too loosely packed. Up to his limit, however, he was +to be relied upon, and not one of his hundred score of cigarettes would +be found to differ in weight from another by a single grain.</p> + +<p>It is perhaps time to describe the outward appearance of the busy +worker, out of whose life the events of some six-and-thirty hours +furnish the subject of this little tale. The Count is thirty years old, +but might be thought older, for there are grey streaks in his smooth +black hair, and there is a grey tone in the complexion of his tired +face. In figure he is thin, broad shouldered, sinewy, well made and +graceful. He moves easily and with a certain elegance. His arms and legs +are long in proportion to his body. His head is well shaped, bony, full +of energy—his nose is finely modelled and sharply aquiline; a short, +dark moustache does not quite hide the firm, well-chiselled lips, and +the clean-cut chin is prominent and of the martial type. From under his +rather heavy eyebrows a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> pair of keen eyes, full of changing light and +expression, look somewhat contemptuously on the world and its +inhabitants. On the whole, the Count is a handsome man and looks a +gentleman, in spite of his occupation and in spite of his clothes, which +are in the fashion of twenty years ago, but are carefully brushed and +all but spotless. There are poor men who can wear a coat as a red Indian +will ride a mustang which a white man has left for dead, beyond the +period predetermined by the nature of tailoring as the natural term of +existence allotted to earthly garments. We look upon a centenarian as a +miracle of longevity, and he is careful to tell us his age if he have +not lost the power of speech; but if the coats of poor men could speak, +how much more marvellous in our eyes would their powers of life appear! +A stranger would have taken the Count for a half-pay officer of good +birth in straitened circumstances. The expression of his face at the +time in question was grave and thoughtful, as though he were thinking of +matters weightier to his happiness, if not more necessary to his +material welfare than his work. He saw his fingers moving, he watched +each honey-coloured bundle of cut leaf as it was rolled in the parchment +tongue, and with unswerving regularity<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> he made the motions required to +slip the tobacco into the shell. But, while seeing all that he did, and +seeing consciously, he looked as though he saw also through the familiar +materials shaped under his fingers, into a dim distance full of a larger +life and wider interests.</p> + +<p>The five occupants of the workshop had been working in silence for +nearly half an hour. The two girls on the one side and the two men on +the other kept their eyes bent down upon their fingers, while Johann +Schmidt, the Cossack, plied his guillotine-like knife in the corner. +This same Johann Schmidt, whose real name, to judge from his appearance, +might have been Tarass Bulba or Danjelo Buralbash, and was probably of a +similar sound, was at once the wit, the spendthrift and the humanitarian +of the Fischelowitz manufactory, possessing a number of good qualities +in such abundant measure as to make him a total failure in everything +except the cutting of tobacco. Like many witty, generous and +kind-hearted persons in a much higher rank of existence, he was cursed +with a total want of tact. On the present occasion, having sliced +through an unusually long package of leaves and having encountered an +exceptional number of obstacles in doing so, he thought fit to pause, +draw a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> long breath and wipe the perspiration from his sallow forehead +with a pocket-handkerchief in which the neutral tints predominated. This +operation, preparatory to a rest of ten minutes, having been +successfully accomplished, Tarass Bulba Schmidt picked up a tiny oblong +bit of paper which had found its way to his feet from one of the girls' +tables, took a pinch of the freshly cut tobacco beside him and rolled a +cigarette in his palm with one hand while he felt in his pocket for a +match with the other. Then, in the midst of a great cloud of fragrant +smoke, he sat down upon the edge of his cutting-block and looked at his +companions. After a few moments of deep thought he gave expression to +his meditations in bad German. It is curious to see how readily the +Slavs in Germany fall into the habit of using the language of the +country when conversing together.</p> + +<p>"It is my opinion," he said at last, "that the most objectless +existences are those which most exactly accomplish the object set before +them."</p> + +<p>Having given vent to this bit of paradox, Johann inhaled as much smoke +as his leathery lungs could contain and relapsed into silence. Vjera, +the Polish girl, glanced at the tobacco-cutter and went on with her +work. The insignificant girl beside her giggled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> vacantly. Dumnoff did +not seem to have heard the remark.</p> + +<p>"Nineteen hundred and twenty-three," muttered the Count between his +teeth and in Russian, as the nineteenth hundred and twenty-third +cigarette rolled from his fingers, and he took up the parchment tongue +for the nineteenth hundred and twenty-fourth time that day.</p> + +<p>"I do not exactly understand you, Herr Schmidt," said Vjera without +looking up again. "An objectless life has no object. How then—"</p> + +<p>"There is nothing to understand," growled Dumnoff, who never counted his +own work, and always enjoyed a bit of conversation, provided he could +abuse something or somebody. "There is nothing in it, and Herr Schmidt +is a Landau moss-head."</p> + +<p>It would be curious to ascertain why the wiseacres of eastern Bavaria +are held throughout South Germany in such contempt as to be a byword for +dulness and stupidity. The Cossack's dark eyes shot a quick glance at +the Russian, but he took no notice of the remark.</p> + +<p>"I mean," he said, after a pause, "exactly what I say. I am an honest +fellow, and I always mean what I say, and no offence to anybody. Do we +not all of us, here with Fischelowitz, exactly fulfil the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> object set +before us, I would like to ask? Do we not make cigarettes from morning +till night with horrible exactness and regularity? Very well. Do we not, +at the same time, lead an atrociously objectless existence?"</p> + +<p>"The object of existence is to live," remarked Dumnoff, who was fond of +cabbage and strong spirits, and of little else in the world. The Cossack +laughed.</p> + +<p>"Do you call this living?" he asked contemptuously. Then the +good-humoured tone returned to his voice, and he shrugged his bony +shoulders as he crossed one leg over the other and took another puff.</p> + +<p>"Nineteen hundred and twenty-nine," said the Count.</p> + +<p>"Do you call that a life for a Christian man?" asked Schmidt again, +looking at him and waving towards him the lighted cigarette he held. "Is +that a life for a gentleman, for a real Count, for a noble, for an +educated aristocrat, for a man born to be the heir of millions?"</p> + +<p>"Thirty," said the Count. "No, it is not. But there is no reason why you +should remind us of the fact, that I know of. It is bad enough to be +obliged to do the thing, without being made to talk about it. Not that +it matters to me so much to-day as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> it did a year ago, as you may +imagine. Thirty-one. It will soon be over for me, at least. In fact I +only finish these two thousand out of kindness to Fischelowitz, because +I know he has a large order to deliver on the day after to-morrow. And, +besides, a gentleman must keep his word even—thirty-two—in the matter +of making cigarettes for other people. But the work on this batch shall +be a parting gift of my goodwill to Fischelowitz, who is an honest +fellow and has understood my painful situation all along. To-morrow at +this time, I shall be far away. Thirty-three."</p> + +<p>The Count drew a long breath of relief in the anticipation of his +release from captivity and hard labour. Vjera dropped her glass tube and +her little pieces of paper and looked sadly at him, while he was +speaking.</p> + +<p>"By the by," observed the Cossack, "to-day is Tuesday. I had quite +forgotten. So you really leave us to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Yes. It is all settled at last, and I have had letters. It is +to-morrow—and this is my last hundred."</p> + +<p>"At what time?" inquired Dumnoff, with a rough laugh. "Is it to be in +the morning or in the afternoon?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I do not know," answered the Count, quietly and with an air of +conviction. "It will certainly be before night."</p> + +<p>"Provided you get the news in time to ask us to the feast," jeered the +other, "we shall all be as happy as you yourself."</p> + +<p>"Thirty-four," said the Count, who had rolled the last cigarette very +slowly and thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>Vjera cast an imploring look on Dumnoff, as though beseeching him not to +continue his jesting. The rough man, who might have sat for the type of +the Russian mujik, noticed the glance and was silent.</p> + +<p>"Who is incredulous enough to disbelieve this time?" asked the Cossack, +gravely. "Besides, the Count says that he has had letters, so it is +certain, at last."</p> + +<p>"Love-letters, he means," giggled the insignificant girl, who rejoiced +in the name of Anna Schmigjelskova. Then she looked at Vjera as though +afraid of her displeasure.</p> + +<p>But Vjera took no notice of the silly speech and sat idle for some +minutes, gazing at the Count with an expression in which love, +admiration and pity were very oddly mingled. Pale and ill as she looked, +there was a ray of light and a movement of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> life in her face during +those few moments. Then she took again her glass tube and her bits of +paper and resumed her task of making shells, with a little heave of her +thin chest that betrayed the suppression of a sigh.</p> + +<p>The Count finished his second thousand, and arranged the last hundreds +neatly with the others, laying them in little heaps and patting the ends +with his fingers so that they should present an absolutely symmetrical +appearance. Dumnoff plodded on, in his peculiar way, doing the work well +and then carelessly tossing it into a basket by his side. He was capable +of working fourteen hours at a stretch when there was a prospect of +cabbage soup and liquor in the evening. The Cossack cleaned his +cutting-block and his broad swivel knife and emptied the cut tobacco +into a clean tin box. It was clear that the day's work was almost at an +end for all present. At that moment Fischelowitz entered with jaunty +step and smiling face, jingling a quantity of loose silver in his hand. +He is a little man, rotund and cheerful, quiet of speech and sunny in +manner, with a brown beard and waving dark hair, arranged in the manner +dear to barbers' apprentices. He has very soft brown eyes, a healthy +complexion and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> a nose the inverse of aquiline, for it curves upwards to +its sharp point, as though perpetually snuffing after the pleasant +fragrance of his favourite "Dubec otborny."</p> + +<p>"Well, my children," he said, with a slight stammer that somehow lent an +additional kindliness to his tone, "what has the day's work been? You +first, Herr Graf," he added, turning to the Count. "I suppose that you +have made a thousand at least?"</p> + +<p>Fischelowitz possessed in abundance the tact which was lacking in Johann +Schmidt, the Cossack. He well knew that the Count had made double the +quantity, but he also knew that the latter enjoyed the small triumph of +producing twice what seemed to be expected of him.</p> + +<p>"Two thousand, Herr Fischelowitz," he said, proudly. Then seeing that +his employer was counting out the sum of six marks, he made a +deprecating gesture, as though refusing all payment.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, with great dignity, and rising from his seat. "No. You +must allow me, on this occasion, to refuse the honorarium usual under +the circumstances."</p> + +<p>"And why, my dear Count?" inquired Fischelowitz, shaking the six marks +in one hand and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> remainder of his money in the other, as though +weighing the silver. "And why will you refuse me the honour—"</p> + +<p>The other working people exchanged glances of amusement, as though they +knew what was coming. Vjera hid her face in her hands as she rested her +elbows on the table before her.</p> + +<p>"I must indeed explain," answered the Count. "To-morrow, I shall be +obliged to leave you, not to return to the occupation which has so long +been a necessity to me in my troubles. Fortune at last returns to me and +I am free. I think I have spoken to you in confidence of my situation, +once at least, if not more often. My difficulties are at an end. I have +received letters announcing that to-morrow I shall be reinstated in my +possessions. You have shown me kindness—kindness, Herr Fischelowitz, +and, what has been more than kindness to me, you have shown me great +courtesy. Every one has not treated the poor gentleman with the same +forbearance. But let bygones be bygones. On the occasion of my return to +prosperity, permit me to offer you, as the only gift as yet within my +means, the result of my last day's work within these walls. You have +been very kind, and I thank you very sincerely."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was a tremor in the Count's voice, and a moisture in his eyes, as +he drew himself up in his threadbare decent frock-coat and held out his +sinewy hand, stained with the long handling of tobacco in his daily +labour. Fischelowitz smiled with uncommon cheerfulness as he grasped the +bony fingers heartily.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he said. "I accept. I esteem it an honour to have been of +any assistance to you in your temporary annoyances."</p> + +<p>Vjera still hid her face. The Cossack watched what was happening with an +expression half sad, half curious, and Dumnoff displayed a set of +ferocious white teeth as he stupidly grinned from ear to ear.</p> + + + + +<hr class="major" /> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="r2966" id="r2966"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> +</div> + +<p>Fischelowitz paid each worker for the day's work, in his quick, cheerful +way, and each, being paid, passed out through the front shop into the +street. Five minutes later the Count was strolling along the +Maximilians-strasse in the direction of the royal palace. As he walked +he drew himself up to the full height of his military figure and looked +into the faces of the passers in the way with grave dignity. At that +hour there were many people abroad, slim lieutenants in the green +uniforms of the Uhlans and in the blue coats and crimson facings of the +heavy cavalry, superior officers with silver or gold plated epaulettes, +slim maidens and plump matrons, beardless students in bright, coloured +caps, and solemn, elderly civilians with great beards and greater +spectacles, great Munich burghers and little Munich nobles, gaily +dressed children of all ages, dogs of every breed from the Saint Bernard +to the crooked-jointed Dachs, perambulators not a few and legions of +nursery-maids. Most of the people who passed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> cast a glance at the +thoroughbred-looking man in the threadbare frock-coat who looked at them +all with such an air of quiet superiority, carrying his head so high and +putting down his feet with such a firm tread. There were doubtless those +among the crowd who saw in the tired face the indications of a +life-story not without interest, for the crowd was not, nor ever is, in +Munich, lacking in intelligent and observant persons. But in all the +multitude there was not one man or woman who knew the name of the +individual to whom the face belonged, and there were few who would have +risked the respectability of their social position by making the +acquaintance of a man so evidently poor, even if the occasion had +presented itself.</p> + +<p>But presently a figure was seen moving swiftly through the throng in the +direction already taken by the Count, a figure of a type much more +familiar to the sight of the Munich stroller, for it was that of a +poorly dressed girl with a long plait of red-brown hair, carrying a +covered brown straw basket upon one arm and hurrying along with the +noiseless tread possible only in the extreme old age of shoes that were +never strong. Poor Vjera had been sent by Fischelowitz with a thousand +cigarettes to be delivered at one of the hotels. She was generally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +employed upon like errands, because she was the poorest in the +establishment, and those who received the wares gave her a few pence for +her trouble. She sped quickly onward, until she suddenly found herself +close behind the Count. Then she slackened her pace and crept along as +noiselessly as possible, her eyes fixed upon him as she walked and +evidently doing her best not to overtake him nor to be seen by him. As +luck would have it, however, the Count suddenly stood still before the +show window of a picture-dealer's shop. A clever painting of a solitary +Cossack riding along a stony mountain road, by Josef Brandt, had +attracted his attention. Then as he realised that he had looked at the +picture a dozen times during the previous week, his eye wandered, and in +the reflection of the plate-glass window he caught sight of Vjera's +slight form at no great distance from him. He turned sharply upon his +heels and met her eyes, taking off his limp hat with a courteous +gesture.</p> + +<p>"Permit me," he said, laying his hand upon the basket and trying to take +it from her.</p> + +<p>Poor Vjera's face flushed suddenly, and her grip tightened upon the +straw handle and she refused to let it go.</p> + +<p>"No, you shall never do that again," she said, quickly, trying to draw +back from him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And why not? Why should I not do you a service?"</p> + +<p>"The other day you took it—the people stared at you—they never stare +at me, for I am only a poor girl—"</p> + +<p>"And what are the people or what is their staring to me?" asked the +Count, quietly. "I am not afraid of being taken for a servant or a +porter, because I carry a lady's parcel. Pray give me the basket."</p> + +<p>"Oh no, pray let it be," cried Vjera, in great earnest. "I cannot bear +to see you with such a thing in your hand."</p> + +<p>They were still standing before the picture-dealer's window, while many +people passed along the pavement. In trying to draw away, Vjera found +herself suddenly in the stream, and just then a broad-shouldered officer +who chanced to be looking the other way came into collision with her, so +roughly that she was forced almost into the Count's arms. The latter +made a step forward.</p> + +<p>"Is it your habit to jostle ladies in that way?" he asked in a sharp +tone, addressing the stout lieutenant.</p> + +<p>The latter muttered something which might be taken for an apology and +passed on, having no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> intention of being drawn into a street quarrel +with an odd-looking individual who, from his accent, was evidently a +foreigner. The Count's eyes darted an angry glance after the offender, +and then he looked again at Vjera. In the little accident he had got +possession of the basket. Thereupon he passed it to his left hand and +offered Vjera his right arm.</p> + +<p>"Did the insolent fellow hurt you?" he asked anxiously, in Polish.</p> + +<p>"Oh no—only give me my basket!" Vjera's face was painfully flushed.</p> + +<p>"No, my dear child," said the Count, gravely. "You will not deny me the +pleasure of accompanying you and of carrying your burden. Afterwards, if +you will, we can take a little walk together, before I see you to your +home."</p> + +<p>"You are always so kind to me," answered the girl, bending her head, as +though to hide her burning cheeks, but submitting at last to his will.</p> + +<p>For some minutes they walked on in silence. Then Vjera showed by a +gesture that she wished to cross the street, on the other side of which +was situated one of the principal hotels of the city. In front of the +entrance Vjera put out her hand entreatingly towards her basket, but the +Count took no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> notice of the attempt and resolutely ascended the steps +of the porch by her side. Behind the swinging glass door stood the huge +porter amply endowed with that military appearance so characteristic of +all men in Germany who wear anything of the nature of an official +costume.</p> + +<p>"The lady has a package for some one here," said the Count, holding out +the basket.</p> + +<p>"For the head waiter," said Vjera, timidly.</p> + +<p>The porter took the basket, set it down, touched the button of an +electric bell and silently looked at the pair with the malignant +scrutiny which is the prerogative of servants in their manner with those +whom they are privileged to consider as their inferiors. Presently, +however, meeting the Count's cold stare, he turned away and strolled up +the vestibule. A moment later the head waiter appeared, glorious in a +perfectly new evening coat and a phenomenal shirt front.</p> + +<p>"Ah, my cigarettes!" he exclaimed briskly, and the Count heard the chink +of the nickel pence, as the head waiter inserted two fat white fingers +into the pocket of his exceedingly fashionable waistcoat.</p> + +<p>The sight which must follow was one which the Count was anxious not to +see. He therefore turned his back and pretended to brush from his sleeve +a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> speck of dust revealed to his searching eye in the strong afternoon +light which streamed through the open door. Then Vjera's low-spoken word +of thanks and her light tread made him aware that she had received her +little gratuity; he stood politely aside while she passed out, and then +went down the half-dozen steps with her. As they began to move up the +street, he did not offer her his arm again.</p> + +<p>"You are so kind, so kind to me," said poor Vjera. "How can I ever thank +you!"</p> + +<p>"Between you and me there is no question of thanks," answered her +companion. "Or if there is to be such a question it should arise in +another way. It is for me to thank you."</p> + +<p>"For what?"</p> + +<p>"For many things, all of which have proceeded from your kindness of +heart and have resulted in making my life bearable during the past +months—or years. I keep little account of time. How long is it since I +have been making cigarettes for Fischelowitz, at the rate of three marks +a thousand?"</p> + +<p>"Ever since I can remember," answered Vjera. "It is six years since I +came to work there as a little girl."</p> + +<p>"Six years? That is not possible! You must be mistaken, it cannot be so +long."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<p>Vjera said nothing, but turned her face away with an expression of pain.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is a long time, since all that happened," said the Count, +thoughtfully. "I was a young man then, I am old now."</p> + +<p>"Old! How can you say anything so untrue!" Vjera exclaimed with +considerable indignation.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am old. It is no wonder. We say at home that 'strange earth dies +without wind.' A foreign land will make old bones of a man without the +help of years. That is what Germany has done for me. And yet, how much +older I should be but for you, dear Vjera! Shall we sit down here, in +this quiet place, under the trees? You know it is all over to-morrow, +and I am free at last. I would like to tell you my story."</p> + +<p>Vjera, who was tired of the close atmosphere of the workroom and whose +strength was not enough to let her walk far with pleasure, sat down upon +the green bench willingly enough, but the nervous look of pain had not +disappeared from her face.</p> + +<p>"Is it of any use to tell it to me again?" she asked, sadly, as she +leaned against the painted backboard.</p> + +<p>The Count produced a cigarette and gravely lighted it, before he +answered her, and when he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> spoke he seemed to attach little or no +importance to her question.</p> + +<p>"You see," he said, "it is all different now, and I can look at it from +a different point of view. Formerly when I spoke of it, I am afraid that +I spoke bitterly, for, of course, I could not foresee that it could all +come right again so soon, so very soon. And now that this weary time is +over I can look back upon it with some pride, if with little +pleasure—save for the part you have played in my life, and—may I say +it?—saving the part I have played in yours."</p> + +<p>He put out his hand gently and tenderly touched hers, and there was +something in the meeting of those two thin, yellow hands, stained with +the same daily labour and not meeting for the first time thus, that sent +a thrill to the two hearts and that might have brought a look of +thoughtful interest into eyes dulled and wearied by the ordinary sights +of this world. Vjera did not resent the innocent caress, but the colour +that came into her face was not of the same hue as that which had burned +there when he had insisted upon carrying her basket. This time the blush +was not painful to see, but rather shed a faint light of beauty over the +plain, pale features. Poor Vjera was happy for a moment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am very glad if I have been anything to you," she said. "I would I +might have been more."</p> + +<p>"More? I do not see—you have been gentle, forbearing, respecting my +misfortunes and trying to make others respect them. What more could you +have done, or what more could you have been?"</p> + +<p>Vjera was silent, but she softly withdrew her hand from his and gazed at +the people in the distance. The Count smoked without speaking, for +several minutes, closing his eyes as though revolving a great problem in +his mind, then glancing sidelong at his companion's face, hesitating as +though about to speak, checking himself and shutting his eyes again in +meditation. Holding his cigarette between his teeth he clasped his +fingers together tightly, unclasped them again and let his arms fall on +each side of him. At last he turned sharply, as though resolved what to +do.</p> + +<p>He believed that he was on the very eve of recovering a vast fortune and +of resuming a high position in the world. It was no wonder that there +was a struggle in his soul, when at that moment a new complication +seemed to present itself. He was indeed sure that he did not love Vjera, +and in the brilliant dreams which floated before his half-closed eyes, +visions of beautiful and high-born women<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> dazzled him with their smiles +and enchanted him by the perfect grace of their movements. To-morrow he +might choose his wife among such as they. But to-day Vjera was by his +side, poor Vjera, who alone of those he had known during the years of +his captivity had stood by him, had felt for him, had given him a sense +of reliance in her perfect sincerity and honest affection. And her +affection had grown into something more; it had developed into love +during the last months. He had seen it, had known it and had done +nothing to arrest the growth. Nay, he had done worse. Only a moment ago +he had taken her hand in a way which might well mislead an innocent +girl. The Count, according to his lights, was the very incarnation of +the theory, honour, in the practice, honesty. His path was clear. If he +had deceived Vjera in the very smallest accent of word or detail of deed +he must make instant reparation. This was the reason why he turned +sharply in his seat and looked at her with a look which was certainly +kind, but which was, perhaps, more full of determination than of +lover-like tenderness.</p> + +<p>"Vjera," he said, slowly, pausing on every syllable of his speech, "will +you be my wife?"</p> + +<p>Vjera looked at him long and shook her head in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> silence. Instead of +blushing, she turned pale, changing colour with that suddenness which +belongs to delicate or exhausted organisations. The Count did not heed +the plain though unspoken negation and continued to speak very slowly +and earnestly, choosing his words and rounding his expressions as though +he were making a declaration to a young princess instead of asking a +poor Polish girl to marry him. He even drew himself together, as it +were, with the movement of dignity which was habitual with him, +straightening his back, squaring his shoulders and leaning slightly +forward in his seat. As he began to speak again, Vjera clasped her hands +upon her knees and looked down at the gravel of the public path.</p> + +<p>"I am in earnest," he said. "To-morrow, all those rights to which I was +born will be restored to me, and I shall enjoy what the world calls a +great position. Am I so deeply indebted to the world that I must submit +to all its prejudices and traditions? Has the world given me anything, +in exchange for which it becomes my duty to consult its caprices, or its +social superstitions? Surely not. To whom am I most indebted, to the +world which has turned its back on me during a temporary embarrassment +and loss of fortune, or to my friend<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> Vjera who has been faithfully kind +all along? The question itself is foolish. I owe everything to Vjera, +and nothing to the world. The case is simple, the argument is short and +the verdict is plain. I will not take the riches and the dignities which +will be mine by this time to-morrow to the feet of some high-born lady +who, to-day, would look coldly on me because I am not—not quite in the +fashion, so far as outward appearance is concerned. But I will and I do +offer all, wealth, title, dignity, everything to Vjera. And she shakes +her head, and with a single gesture refuses it all. Why? Has she a +reason to give? An argument to set up? A sensible ground for her +decision? No, certainly not."</p> + +<p>As he looked gravely towards her averted face, Vjera again shook her +head, slowly and thoughtfully, with an air of unalterable determination. +He seemed surprised at her obstinacy and watched her in silence for a +few moments.</p> + +<p>"I see," he said at last, very sadly. "You think that I do not love +you." Vjera made no sign, and a long pause followed during which the +Count's features expressed great perplexity.</p> + +<p>The day was drawing to its close and the low sun shot level rays through +the trees of the Hofgarten,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> far above the heads of the laughing +children, the gossiping nurses and the slowly moving crowd that filled +the pavement along the drive in front of the palace. Vjera and the Count +were seated on a bench which was now already in the shade. The air was +beginning to grow chilly, but neither of them heeded the change.</p> + +<p>"You think that I do not love you," said the Count again. "You are +mistaken, deeply mistaken, Vjera."</p> + +<p>The faint, soft colour rose in the poor girl's waxen cheeks, and there +was an unaccustomed light in her weary blue eyes as they met his.</p> + +<p>"I do not say," continued her companion, "that I love you as boys love +at twenty. I am past that. I am not a young man any more, and I have had +misfortunes such as would have broken the hearts of most men, and of the +kind that do not dispose to great love-passion. If my troubles had come +to me through the love of a woman—it might have been otherwise. As it +is—do you think that I have no love for you, Vjera? Do not think that, +dear—do not let me see that you think it, for it would hurt me. There +is much for you, much, very much."</p> + +<p>"To-day," answered Vjera, sadly, "but not to-morrow."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are cruel, without meaning to be even unkind," said the Count in an +unsteady voice. This time it was Vjera who took his hand in hers and +pressed it.</p> + +<p>"God forbid that I should have an unkind thought for you," she said, +very tenderly.</p> + +<p>The Count turned to her again and there was a moisture in his eyes of +which he was unconscious.</p> + +<p>"Then believe that I do truly love you, Vjera," he answered. "Believe +that all that there is to give you, I give, and that my all is not a +little. I love you, child, in a way—ah, well, you have your girlish +dreams of love, and it is right that you should have them and it would +be very wrong to destroy them. But they shall not be destroyed by me, +and surely not by any other man, while I live. I shall grow young again, +I will grow young for you, for, in years at least, I am not old. I will +be a boy for you, Vjera, and I will love as boys love, but with the +strength of a man who has known sorrow and overlived it. You shall not +feel that in taking me you are taking a father, a protector, a man to +whom your youth seems childhood, and your youthfulness childish folly. +No, no—I will be more than that to you, I will be all to you that you +are to me, and more, and more, each day, till love<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> has made us of one +age, of one mind, of one heart. Do you not believe that all this shall +be? Speak, dear. What is there yet behind in your thoughts?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell. I wish I knew." Vjera's answer was scarcely audible and +she turned her face from him.</p> + +<p>"And yet, there is something, you are keeping something from me, when I +have kept nothing from you. Why is it? Why do you not quite trust me and +believe in me? I can make you happy, now. Yesterday it was different and +so it was in all the yesterdays of yesterdays. I had nothing to offer +you but myself."</p> + +<p>"It were best so," said Vjera in a low voice.</p> + +<p>The Count was silent. There was something in her manner which he could +not understand, or rather, as he fancied, there was something in his own +brain which prevented him from understanding a very simple matter, and +he grew impatient with himself. At the same time he felt more and more +strongly drawn to the young girl at his side. As the sun went down and +the evening shadows deepened, he saw more in her face than he had been +accustomed to see there. Every line of the pale features so familiar to +his sight in his everyday life, reminded him of moments in the recent +past when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> he had been wretchedly unhappy, and when the kindly look in +Vjera's face had comforted him and made life seem less unbearable. In +his dreary world she alone had shown that she cared whether he lived or +died, were insulted or respected, were treated like a dog or like a +Christian man. The kindness of his employer was indeed undeniable, but +it was of the sort which grated upon the sensitive nature of the +unfortunate cigarette-maker, for it was in itself vulgarly cheerful, +assuming that, after all, the Count should be contented with his lot. +But Vjera had always seemed to understand him, to feel for him, to +foresee his sensibilities as it were, and to be prepared for them. In a +measure appreciable to himself she admired him, and admiration alone can +make pity palatable to the proud. In her eyes his constancy under +misfortune was as admirable as his misfortunes themselves were worthy of +commiseration. In her eyes he was a gentleman, and one who had a right +to hold his head high among the best. When he was poorest, he had felt +himself to be in her eyes a hero. Are there many men who can resist the +charm of the one woman who believes them to be heroic? Are not most men, +too, really better for the trust and faith that is placed in them by +others, as the earthen vessel, valueless in itself,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> becomes a thing of +prize and beauty under the loving hand of the artist who draws graceful +figures upon it and colours it skilfully, and handles it tenderly?</p> + +<p>And now the poor man was puzzled and made anxious by the girl's +obstinate rejection of his offer. A chilly thought took shape in his +mind and pained him exceedingly.</p> + +<p>"Vjera," he said at last, "I see how it is. You have never loved me. You +have only pitied me. You are good and kind, Vjera, but I wish it had +been otherwise."</p> + +<p>He spoke very quietly, in a subdued tone, and the moisture which had +been more than once in his eyes since he had sat down beside the young +girl, now almost took the shape of a tear. He was wounded in his +innocent vanity, in the last stronghold of his fast-fading +individuality. But Vjera turned quickly at the words and a momentary +fire illuminated her pale blue eyes and dispelled the misty veil that +seemed to dull them.</p> + +<p>"Whatever you say, do not say that!" she exclaimed. "I love you with all +my heart—I—ah, if you only understood, if you only knew, if you only +guessed!"</p> + +<p>"That is it," answered the Count. "If I only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> could—but there is +something that passes my understanding."</p> + +<p>The look of pain faded from his face and gave way to a bright smile, so +bright, so rare, that it restored in the magic of an instant the +freshness of early youth to the weary mask of sorrow. Then he covered +his eyes with his hands as though searching his memory for something he +could not find.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he asked, after a short pause and looking suddenly at +Vjera. "It is something I ought to remember and yet something I have +quite forgotten. Help me, Vjera, tell me what you are thinking of, and I +will explain it all."</p> + +<p>"I was thinking of this day a week ago," said Vjera, and a little sob +escaped her as she quickly looked away.</p> + +<p>"A week ago? Let me see—what happened a week ago? But why should I ask? +Nothing ever happens to me, nothing until now! And now, oh Vjera, it is +you who do not understand, it is you who do not know, who cannot guess."</p> + +<p>As if he had forgotten everything else in the sudden realisation of his +return to liberty and fortune, he began to speak quickly and excitedly +in a tone louder and clearer than that of his ordinary voice.</p> + +<p>"No," he cried, "you can never guess what this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> change is to me. You can +never know what I enjoy in the thought of being myself again, you cannot +understand what it is to have been rich and great, and to be poor and +wretched and to regain wealth and dignity again by the stroke of a pen +in the vibration of a second. And yet it is true, all true, I tell you, +to-day, at last, after so much waiting. To-morrow they will come to my +lodging to fetch me—a court carriage or two, and many officials who +will treat me with the old respect I was used to long ago. They will +come up my little staircase, bringing money, immense quantities of +money, and the papers and the parchments and the seals. How they will +stare at my poor lodging, for they have never known that I have been so +wretched. Yes, one will bring money in a black leathern case—I know +just how it will look—and another will have with him a box full of +documents—all lawfully mine—and a third will bring my orders, that I +once wore, and with them the order of Saint Alexander Nevsky and a +letter on broad heavy paper, signed Alexander Alexandrovitch, signed by +the Tsar himself, Vjera. And I shall go with them to be received in +audience by the Prince Regent here, before I leave for Petersburg. And +then, after dinner, in the evening, I will get into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> my special carriage +in the express train and my servants will make me comfortable and then +away, away, a night, and a day and another night and perhaps a few hours +more and I shall be at home at last, in my own great, beautiful home, +far out in the glorious country among the woods and the streams and the +birds; and I shall be driven in an open carriage with four horses up +from the village through the great avenue of poplars to the grand old +house. But before I go in I will go to the tomb—yes, I will go to the +tomb among the trees, and I will say a prayer for my father and—"</p> + +<p>"Your father?" Vjera started slightly. She had listened to the long +catalogue of the poor man's anticipations with a sad, unchanging face, +as though she had heard it all before. But at the mention of his +father's death she seemed surprised.</p> + +<p>"Yes. He is dead at last, and my brother died on the same day. I have +had letters. There was a disease abroad in the village. They caught it +and they died. And now everything is mine, everything, the lands and the +houses and the money, all, all mine. But I will say a prayer for them, +now that they are dead and I shall never see them again. God knows, they +treated me ill when they were alive, but death has them at last."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Count's eyes grew suddenly cold and hard, so that Vjera shuddered as +she caught the look of hatred in them.</p> + +<p>"Death, death, death!" he cried. "Death the judge, the gaoler, the +executioner! He has done justice on them for me, and they will not break +loose from the house he has made for them to lie in and to sleep in for +ever. And now, friend Death, I am master in their stead, and you must +give me time to enjoy the mastership before you serve me likewise. Oh +Vjera, the joy, the delight, the ecstasy, the glory of it all!"</p> + +<p>He struck the palms of his lean hands together with the gesture of a +boy, and laughed aloud in the sheer overflowing of his heart. But Vjera +sat still, silent and thoughtful, beside him, watching him rather +anxiously as though she feared lest the excess of his happiness might do +him an injury.</p> + +<p>"You do not say anything, Vjera. You do not seem glad," he said, +suddenly noticing her expression.</p> + +<p>"I am very glad, indeed I am," she answered, smiling with a great +effort. "Who would not be glad at the thought of seeing you enjoy your +own again?"</p> + +<p>"It is not for the money, Vjera!" he exclaimed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> in a lower and more +concentrated tone. "It is not really for the money nor for the lands, +nor even for the position or the dignity. Do you know what it is that +makes me so happy? I have got the best of it. That is it. It has been a +long struggle and a weary one, but I knew I should win, though I never +saw how it was to be. When they turned me away from them like a dog, my +father and my brother, I faced them on the threshold for the last time +and I said to them, 'Look you, you have made an outcast of me, and yet I +am your son, my father, and your brother, my brother, and you know it. +And yet I tell you that when we meet again, I shall be master here, and +not you.' And so it has turned out, Vjera, for they shall meet me—they +dead, and I alive. They jeered and laughed, and sent me away with only +the clothes I wore, for I would not take their money. I hear their +laughter now in my ears—but I hear, too, a laugh that is louder and +more pitiless than theirs was, for it is the laugh of Death!"</p> + + + + +<hr class="major" /> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="r7021" id="r7021"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> +</div> + +<p>The Count rose to his feet as he finished the last sentence. It seemed +as though he were oppressed by the inaction to which he was constrained +during the last hours of waiting before the great moment, and he moved +nervously, like a man anxious to throw off a burden.</p> + +<p>Vjera rose also, with a slow and weary movement.</p> + +<p>"It is late," she said. "I must go home. Good-night."</p> + +<p>"No. I will go with you. I will see you to your door."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she answered, watching his face closely.</p> + +<p>Then the two walked side by side under the lime trees in the deepening +evening shadows, to the low archway by which the road leads out of the +Hofgarten on the side of the city. For some minutes neither spoke, but +Vjera could hear her companion's quickly drawn, irregular breath. His +heart was beating fast and his thoughts were chasing each other through +a labyrinth of dreams, inconsequent,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> unreasonable, but brilliant in the +extreme. His head high, his shoulders thrown back, his eyes flashing, +his lips tightly closed, the Count marched out with his companion into +the broad square. He felt that this had been the last day of his slavery +and that the morrow's sun was to rise upon a brighter and a happier +period of his life, in which there should be no more poverty, no more +manual labour, no more pinching and grinding and tormenting of himself +in the hopeless effort at outward and visible respectability. Poor Vjera +saw in his face what was passing in his mind, but her own expression of +sadness did not change. On the contrary, since his last outbreak of +triumphant satisfaction she had been more than usually depressed. For a +long time the Count did not again notice her low spirits, being absorbed +in the contemplation of his own splendid future. At last he seemed to +recollect her presence at his side, glanced at her, made as though to +say something, checked himself, and began humming snatches from an old +opera. But either his musical memory did not serve him, or his humour +changed all at once, for he suddenly was silent again, and after +glancing once more at Vjera's downcast face his own became very grave.</p> + +<p>He had been brought back to present considerations,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> and he found +himself in one of those dilemmas with which his genuine pride, his +innocent and harmless vanity and his innate kindness constantly beset +his life. He had asked Vjera to marry him, scarcely half an hour +earlier, and he now found himself separated from the moment which had +given birth to the generous impulse, by a lengthened contemplation of +his own immediate return to wealth and importance.</p> + +<p>He was deeply attached to the poor Polish girl, as men shipwrecked upon +desert islands grow fond of persons upon whom they could have bestowed +no thought in ordinary life. He had grown well accustomed to his poor +existence, and in the surroundings in which he found himself, Vjera was +the one being in whom, besides sympathy for his misfortune, he +discovered a sensibility rarer than common, and the unconscious +development of a natural refinement. There are strange elements to be +found in all great cities among the colonies of strangers who make their +dwellings therein. Brought together by trouble, they live in tolerance +among themselves, and none asks the other the fundamental question of +upper society, "Whence art thou?"—nor does any make of his neighbour +the inquiry which rises first to the lips of the man of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> action, +"Whither goest thou?" They meet as the seaweed meets on the crest of the +wave, of many colours from many distant depths, to intermingle for a +time in the motion of the waters, to part company under the driving of +the north wind, to be drifted at last, forgetful of each other, by tides +and currents which wash the opposite ends of the earth. This is the life +of the emigrant, of the exile, of the wanderer among men; the +incongruous elements meet, have brief acquaintance and part, not to meet +again. Who shall count the faces that the exile has known, the voices +that have been familiar in his ear, the hands that have pressed his? In +every land and in every city, he has met and talked with a score, with +scores, with hundreds of men and women all leading the more or less +mysterious and uncertain life which has become his own by necessity or +by choice. If he be an honest man and poor, a dozen trades have occupied +his fingers in half a dozen capitals; if he be dishonest, a hundred +forms and varieties of money-bringing dishonesty are sheathed like +arrows in his quiver, to be shot unawares into the crowd of well-to-do +and unsuspecting citizens on the borders of whose respectable society +the adventurer warily picks his path.</p> + +<p>It is rarely that two persons meet under such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> circumstances between +whom the bond of a real sympathy exists and can develop into lasting +friendship between man and man, or into true love between man and woman. +When both feel themselves approaching such a point, they are also +unconsciously returning to civilisation, and with the civilising +influence arises the desire to ask the fatal question, "Whence art +thou?"—or the fear lest the other may ask it, and the anxiety to find +an answer where there is none that will bear scrutiny.</p> + +<p>It was therefore natural that the Count should feel disturbed at what he +had done, in spite of his sincere and honourable wish to abide by his +proposal and to make Vjera his wife. He felt that in returning to his +own position in the world he owed it in a measure to himself to wed with +a maiden of whom he could at least say that she came of honest people. +Always centred in his own alternating hopes and fears, and conscious of +little in the lives of others, it seemed to him that a great difficulty +had suddenly revealed itself to his apprehensions. At the same time, by +a self-contradiction familiar to such natures as his, he felt himself +more and more strongly drawn to the girl, and more and more strictly +bound in honour to marry her. As he thought of this, his habitual +contempt of the world<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> and its opinion returned. What had the world done +for him? And if he had felt no obligation to consult it in his poverty, +why need he bend to any such slavery in the coming days of his +splendour? He stopped suddenly at the corner of the street in which the +Polish girl lived. She lodged, with a little sister who was still too +young to work, in a room she hired of a respectable Bohemian shoemaker. +The latter's wife was of the sour-good kind, whose chief talent lies in +giving their kind actions a hard-hearted appearance.</p> + +<p>"Vjera," said the Count, earnestly, "I have been talking a great deal +about myself. You must forgive me, for the news I have received is so +very important and makes such a sudden difference in my prospects. But +you have not given me the answer I want to my question. Will you be my +wife, Vjera, and come with me out of this wretched existence to share my +happy life and to make it happier? Will you?"</p> + +<p>His tone was so sincere and loving that it produced a little storm of +evanescent happiness in the girl's heart, and the tears started to her +eyes and stained her sallow, waxen cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Ah, if it could only be true!" she exclaimed in a voice more than half +full of hope, as she quickly brushed away the drops.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But it is true, indeed it is," answered the Count. "Oh, Vjera, do you +think I would deceive you? Do you think I could tell you a story in +which there is no truth whatever? Do not think that of me, Vjera."</p> + +<p>The tears broke out afresh, but from a different source. For some +seconds she could not speak.</p> + +<p>"Why do you cry so bitterly?" he asked, not understanding at all what +was passing. "I swear to you it is all true—"</p> + +<p>"It is not that—it is not that," cried Vjera. "I know—I know that you +believe it—and I love you so very much—"</p> + +<p>"But then, I do not understand," said the Count in a low voice that +expressed his pitiful perplexity. "How can I not believe it, when it is +all in the letters? And why should you not believe it, too? Besides, +Vjera dear, it will all be quite clear to-morrow. Of course—well, I can +understand that having known me poor so long, it must seem strange to +you to think of me as very rich. But I shall not be another man, for +that. I shall always be the same for you, Vjera, always the same."</p> + +<p>"Yes, always the same," sighed the girl under her breath.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and so, if you love me to-day, you will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> love me just as well +to-morrow—to-morrow, the great day for me. What day will it be? Let me +see—to-morrow is Wednesday."</p> + +<p>"Wednesday, yes," repeated Vjera. "If only there were no to-morrow—" +She checked herself. "I mean," she added, quickly, "if only it could be +Thursday, without any day between."</p> + +<p>"You are a strange girl, Vjera. I do not know what you are thinking of +to-day. But to-morrow you will see. I think they will come for me in the +morning. You shall see, you shall see."</p> + +<p>Vjera began to move onward and the Count walked by her side, wondering +at her manner and tormenting his brain in the vain effort to understand +it. In front of her door he held out his hand.</p> + +<p>"Promise me one thing," he said, as she laid her fingers in his and +looked up at him. Her eyes were still full of tears.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Promise that you will be my wife, when you are convinced that all this +good fortune is real. You do not believe in it, though I cannot tell +why. I only ask that when you are obliged to believe in it, you will do +as I ask."</p> + +<p>Vjera hesitated, and as she stood still the hand he held trembled +nervously.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I promise," she said, at last, as though with a great effort. Then, all +at once, she covered her eyes and leaned against the door-post. He laid +his hand caressingly upon her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Is it so hard to say?" he asked, tenderly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but if it should ever be indeed true!" she moaned. "If it +should—if it should!"</p> + +<p>"What then? Shall we not be happy together? Will it not be even pleasant +to remember these wretched years?"</p> + +<p>"But if it should turn out so—oh, how can I ever be a fitting wife for +you, how can I learn all that a great lady must think, and do, and say? +I shall be unworthy of you—of your new friends, of your new world—but +then, it cannot really happen. No—do not speak of it any more, it hurts +me too much—good-night, good-night! Let us sleep and forget, and go +back to our work in the morning, as though nothing had happened—in the +morning, to-morrow. Will you? Then good-night."</p> + +<p>"There will be no work to-morrow," he said, returning to his argument. +But she broke away and fled from him and disappeared in the dark and +narrow staircase. As he stood, he could hear her light tread on the +creaking wood of the steps, fainter and fainter in the distance. Then he +caught<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> the feeble tinkle of a little bell, the opening and shutting of +a door, and he was alone in the gloom of the evening.</p> + +<p>For some minutes he stood still, as though listening for some faint echo +from the direction in which Vjera had disappeared, then he slowly and +thoughtfully walked away. He had forgotten to eat at dinner-time, and +now he forgot that the hour of the second meal had come round. He walked +on, not knowing and not caring whither he went, absorbed in the +contemplation of the bright pictures which framed themselves in his +brain, troubled only by his ever-recurring wonder at Vjera's behaviour.</p> + +<p>Unconsciously, and from sheer force of habit, he threaded the streets in +the direction of the tobacconist's shop where so much of his time was +spent. If it be not true that the ghosts of the dead haunt places +familiar to them in life, yet the superstition is founded upon the +instincts of human nature. Men begin to haunt certain spots +unconsciously while they are alive, especially those which they are +obliged to visit every day and in which they are accustomed to sit, idle +or at work, during the greater part of the week. The artist, when he +wishes to be completely at rest, re-enters the studio he left but an +hour earlier; the sailor hangs about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> the port when he is ashore, the +shopman cannot resist the temptation to spend an hour among his wares on +Sunday, the farmer is irresistibly drawn to the field to while away the +time on holidays between dinner and supper. We all of us see more and +understand better what we see, in those surroundings most familiar to +us, and it is a general law that the average intelligence likes the best +that which it understands with the least effort. The mechanical part of +us, too, when free from any direct and especial impulse of the mind, +does unknowingly what it has been in the habit of doing. Two-thirds of +all the physical diseases in the world are caused by the disturbance of +the mental habits and are vastly aggravated by the direction of the +thoughts to the part afflicted. Idiots and madmen are often phenomenally +healthy people, because there is in their case no unnatural effort of +the mind to control and manage the body. The Count having bestowed no +thought upon the direction of his walk, mechanically turned towards the +scene of his daily labour.</p> + +<p>Considering that he believed himself to have abandoned for ever the +irksome employment of rolling tobacco in a piece of parchment in order +to slip it into a piece of paper, it might have been supposed that he +would be glad to look at anything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> rather than the glass door of the +shop in which he had repeated that operation so many hundreds of +thousands of times; or, at least, it might have been expected that on +realising where he was he would be satisfied with a glance of +recognition and would turn away.</p> + +<p>But the Count's fate had ordained otherwise. When he reached the shop +the lights were burning brightly in the show window and within. Through +the glass door he could see that Fischelowitz was comfortably installed +in a chair behind the counter, contentedly smoking one of his own best +cigarettes, and smiling happily to himself through the fragrant cloud. +If the tobacconist's wife had been present, the Count would have gone +away without entering, for he did not like her, and had reason to +suspect that she hated him, which was indeed the case. But Akulina was +nowhere to be seen, the shop looked bright and cheerful, the Count was +tired, he pushed the door and entered. Fischelowitz turned his head +without modifying his smile, and seeing who his visitor was nodded +familiarly. The Count raised his hat a little from his head and +immediately replaced it.</p> + +<p>"Good-evening, Herr Fischelowitz," he said, speaking, as usual, in +German.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Good-evening, Count," answered the tobacconist, cheerfully. "Sit down, +and light a cigarette. What is the news?"</p> + +<p>"Great news with me, for to-morrow," said the other, bending his head as +he stooped over the nickel-plated lamp on the counter, in which a tiny +flame burned for the convenience of customers. "To-morrow, at this time, +I shall be on my way to Petersburg."</p> + +<p>"Well, I hope so, for your sake," was the good-humoured reply. "But I am +afraid it will always be to-morrow, Herr Graf."</p> + +<p>The Count shook his head after staring for a few seconds at his +employer, and then smoked quietly, as though he attached no weight to +the remark. Fischelowitz looked curiously at him, and during a brief +moment the smile faded from his face.</p> + +<p>"You have not been long at supper," he remarked, after a pause. The +observation was suggested by the condition of his own appetite.</p> + +<p>"Supper?" repeated the Count, rather vaguely. "I believe I had forgotten +all about it. I will go presently."</p> + +<p>"The Count is reserving himself for to-morrow," said an ironical voice +in the background. Akulina entered the shop from the workroom, a +guttering<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> candle in a battered candlestick in one hand, and a number of +gaily coloured pasteboard boxes tucked under the other arm. "What is the +use of eating to-day when there will be so many good things to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>Neither Fischelowitz nor the Count vouchsafed any answer to this thrust. +For the second time, since the Count had entered, however, the +tobacconist wore an expression approaching to gravity. The Count himself +kept his composure admirably, only glancing coldly at Akulina, and then +looking at his cigarette. Akulina is a broad, fat woman, with a +flattened Tartar face, small eyes, good but short teeth, full lips and a +dark complexion. She reminds one of an over-fed tabby cat, of doubtful +temper, and her voice seems to reach utterance after traversing some +thick, soft medium, which lends it an odd sort of guttural richness. She +moves quietly but heavily and has an Asiatic second sight in the matter +of finance. In matters of thrift and foresight her husband places +implicit confidence in her judgment. In matters of generosity and +kindness implying the use of money, he never consults her.</p> + +<p>"It is amazing to see how much people will believe," she said, putting +out her candle and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> snuffing it with her thumb and forefinger. Then she +began to arrange the boxes she had brought, setting them in order upon +the shelves. Still neither of the men answered her. But she was not the +woman to be reduced to silence by silence.</p> + +<p>"I am always telling you that it is all rubbish," she continued, turning +a broad expanse of alpaca-covered back upon her audience. "I am always +telling you that you are no more a count than Fischelowitz is a grand +duke, that the whole thing is a foolish imagination which you have stuck +into your head, as one sticks tobacco into a paper shell. And it ought +to be burned out of your head, or starved out, or knocked out, or +something, for if it stays there it will addle your brains altogether. +Why cannot you see that you are in the world just like other people, and +give up all these ridiculous dreams and all this chatter about counts +and princes and such like people, of whom you never spoke to one in your +life, for all you may say?"</p> + +<p>The Count glanced at the back of Akulina's head, which was decently +covered by a flattened twist of very shining black hair, and then he +looked at Fischelowitz as though to inquire whether the latter would +suffer a gentleman to be thus insulted in his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> presence and on his +premises. Fischelowitz seemed embarrassed, and coloured a little.</p> + +<p>"You might choose your language a little more carefully, wife," he +observed in a rather timid tone.</p> + +<p>"And you might choose your friends with a better view to your own +interests," she answered without hesitation. "If you allow this sort of +thing to go on, and four children growing up, and you expecting to open +another shop this summer—why, you had better turn count yourself," she +concluded, triumphantly, and with that nice logical perception peculiar +to her kind.</p> + +<p>"If you mean to say that the Count's valuable help has not been to our +advantage—" began Fischelowitz, making a desperate effort to give a +more pleasant look to things.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know that," laughed Akulina, scornfully. "I know that the Count, +as you call him, can make his two thousand a day as well as any one. I +am not blind. And I know you, and I know that it is a sort of foolish +pleasure to you to employ a count in the work and to pay your money to a +count, though he does not earn it any better than any one else, nor any +worse, to be just. And I know the Count, and I know his friends who +borrow fifty marks of you and pay you back in stuffed dolls with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> tunes +in them. I know you, Christian Gregorovitch"—at the thought of the lost +money Akulina broke at last into her native language and gave the reins +to her fury in good Russian—"yes, I know you, and him, and his friends +and your friends, and I see the good yellow money flying out of the +window like a flight of canary birds when the cage is opened, and I see +you grinning like Player-Ape over the vile Vienna puppet, and winding up +its abominable music as though you were turning the key upon your money +in the safe instead of listening to the tune of its departure. And then +because Akulina has the courage to tell you the truth, and to tell you +that your fine Count is no count, and that his friends get from you ten +times the money he earns, then you turn on me like a bear, ready to bite +off my head, and you tell me to choose my language! Is there no shame in +you, Christian Gregorovitch, or is there also no understanding? Am I the +mother of your four children or not? I would like to ask. I suppose you +cannot deny that, whatever else you deny which is true, and you tell me +to choose my language! <i>Da</i>, I will choose my language, in truth! <i>Da</i>, +I will choose out such a swarm of words as ought to sting your ears like +hornets, if you had not such a leathery skin and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> such a soft brain +inside it. But why should I? It is thrown away. There is no shame in +you. You see nothing, you care for nothing, you hear no reason, you feel +no argument. I will go home and make soup. I am better there than in the +shop. Oh yes! it is always that. Akulina can make good things to eat, +and good tea and good punch to drink, and Akulina is the Archangel +Michael in the kitchen. But if Akulina says to you, 'Save a penny here, +do not lend more than you have there,' Akulina is a fool and must be +told to choose her language, lest it be too indelicate for the dandified +ears of the high-born gentleman! I should not wonder if, by choosing her +language carefully enough, Akulina ended by making the high-born +gentleman understand something after all. His perception cannot possibly +be so dull as yours, Christian Gregorovitch, my little husband."</p> + +<p>Akulina paused for breath after her tremendous invective, which, indeed, +was only intended by her for the preface of the real discourse, so +fertile was her imagination and so thoroughly roused was her eloquence +by the sense of injury received. While she was speaking, Fischelowitz, +whose terror of his larger half was only relative, had calmly risen and +had wound up the "Wiener Gigerl" to the extreme<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> of the doll's powers, +placing it on the counter before him and sitting down before it in +anticipation of the amusement he expected to derive from its +performance. In the short silence which ensued while Akulina was resting +her lungs for a second and more deadly effort, the wretched little +musical box made itself heard, clicking and scratching and grinding out +a miserable little polka. At the sound, the sunny smile returned to the +tobacconist's face. He knew that no earthly eloquence, no scathing wit, +no brutal reply could possibly exasperate his wife as this must. He +resented everything she had said, and in his vulgar way he was ashamed +that she should have said it before the Count, and now he was glad that +by the mere turning of a key he could answer her storm of words in a way +to drive her to fury, while at the same time showing his own +indifference. As for the Count himself, he had moved nearer to the door +and was looking quietly out into the irregularly lighted street, smoking +as though he had not heard a word of what had been said. As he stood, it +was impossible for either of the others to see his face, and he betrayed +no agitation by movement or gesture.</p> + +<p>Akulina turned pale to the lips, as her husband had anticipated. It is +probable that the most tragic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> event conceivable in her existence could +not have affected her more powerfully than the twang of the musical box +and the twisting and turning of the insolent little wooden head. She +came round to the front of the counter with gleaming eyes and clenched +fists.</p> + +<p>"Stop that thing!" she cried, "Stop it, or it will drive me mad."</p> + +<p>Fischelowitz still smiled, and the doll continued to turn round and +round to the tune, while the Count looked out through the open door. +Suddenly there was a quick shadow on the brightly lighted floor of the +shop, followed instantly by a crash, and then with a miserable attempt +to finish its tune the little instrument gave a resounding groan and was +silent. Akulina had struck the Gigerl such a blow as had sent it flying, +pedestal and all, past her husband's head into a dark corner behind the +counter. Fischelowitz reddened with anger, and Akulina stood ready to +take to flight, glad that the broad counter was between herself and her +husband. Her fury had spent itself in one blow and she would have given +anything to set the doll up in its place again unharmed. She realised at +the same instant that she had probably destroyed any intrinsic value +which the thing had possessed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> and her face fell wofully. The Count +turned slowly where he stood and looked at the couple.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to fight each other?" he inquired in unusually bland +tones.</p> + +<p>At the sound of his voice the Russian woman's anger rose again, glad to +find some new object upon which to expend itself and on which to +exercise vengeance for the catastrophe its last expression had brought +about. She turned savagely upon the Count and shook her plump brown +fists in his face.</p> + +<p>"It is all your fault!" she exclaimed. "What business have you to come +between husband and wife with your friends and your cursed dolls, the +fiend take them, and you! Is it for this that Christian Gregorovitch and +I have lived together in harmony these ten years and more? Is it for +this that we have lived without a word of anger—"</p> + +<p>"What did you say?" asked Fischelowitz, with an angry laugh. But she did +not heed him.</p> + +<p>"Without a word of anger between us, these many years?" she continued. +"Is it for this? To have our peace destroyed by a couple of Wiener +Gigerls, a doll and a sham count? But it is over now! It is over, I tell +you—go, get yourself out of the shop, out of my sight, into the street +where you belong! For honest folks to be harbouring such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> a fellow as +you are, and not you only, but your friends and your rag and your tag! +Fie! If you stay here long we shall end in dust and feathers! But you +shall not stay here, whatever that soft-brained husband of mine says. +You shall go and never come back. Do you think that in all Munich there +is no one else who will do the work for three marks a thousand? Bah! +there are scores, and honest people, too, who call themselves by plain +names and speak plainly! None of your counts and your grand dukes and +your Lord-knows-whats! Go, you adventurer, you disturber of—why do you +look at me like that? I have always known the truth about you, and I +have never been able to bear the sight of you and never shall. You have +deceived my husband, poor man, because he is not as clever as he is +good-natured, but you never could deceive me, try as you would, and the +Lord knows, you have tried often enough. Pah! You good-for-nothing!"</p> + +<p>The poor Count had drawn back against the well-filled shop and had +turned deadly pale as she heaped insult upon insult upon him in her +incoherent and foul-mouthed anger. As soon as she paused, exhausted by +the effort to find epithets to suit her hatred of him, he went up to the +counter where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> Fischelowitz was sitting, very much disturbed at the +course events were taking.</p> + +<p>"My dear Count," began the latter, anxious to set matters right, "pray +do not pay any attention—"</p> + +<p>"I think I had better say good-bye," answered the Count in a low tone. +"We part on good terms, though you might have said a word for me just +now."</p> + +<p>"He dare not!" cried Akulina.</p> + +<p>"And as for the doll, if you will give it to me, I promise you that you +shall have your fifty marks to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Oho! He knows where to get fifty marks, now!" exclaimed Akulina, +viciously.</p> + +<p>Fischelowitz picked up the puppet, which was broken in two in the waist, +so that the upper half of the body hung down by the legs, in a limp +fashion, held only by the little red coat. The tobacconist wrapped it up +in a piece of newspaper without a word and handed it to the Count. He +felt perhaps that the only atonement he could offer for his wife's +brutal conduct was to accede to the request.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said the Count, taking the thing. "On the word of a +gentleman you shall have the money before to-morrow night."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A good riddance of both of them," snarled Akulina, as the Count lifted +his hat and then, his head bent more than was his wont, passed out of +the shop with the remains of the poor Gigerl under his arm.</p> + + + + +<hr class="major" /> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="r2332" id="r2332"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> +</div> + +<p>The Count had no precise object in view when he hurriedly left the shop +with the parcel containing the broken doll. What he most desired for the +moment was to withdraw himself from the storm of Akulina's abuse, seeing +that he had no means of checking the torrent, nor of exacting +satisfaction for the insults received. However he might have acted had +the aggressor been a man, he was powerless when attacked by a woman, and +he was aware that he had followed the only course which had in it +anything of dignity and self-respect. To stand and bandy words and +epithets of abuse would have been worse than useless, to treat the +tobacconist like a gentleman and to hold him responsible for his wife's +language would have been more than absurd. So the Count took the remains +of the puppet and went on his way.</p> + +<p>He was not, however, so superior to good and bad treatment as not to +feel deeply wounded and thoroughly roused to anger. Perhaps, if he had +been already in possession of the fortune and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> dignity which he expected +on the morrow, he might have smiled contemptuously at the virago's noisy +wrath, feeling nothing and caring even less what she felt towards him. +But he had too long been poor and wretched to bear with equanimity any +reference to his wretchedness or his poverty, and he was too painfully +conscious of the weight of outward circumstances in determining men's +judgments of their fellows not to be stung by the words that had been so +angrily applied to him. Moreover, and worst of all, there was the fact +that Fischelowitz had really lent the money to a poor countryman who had +previously made the acquaintance of the Count, and had by that means +induced the tobacconist to help him. It was true, indeed, that the poor +Count had himself lent the fellow all he had in his pocket, which meant +all that he had in the world, and had been half starved in consequence +during a whole week. The man was an idle vagabond of the worst type, +with a pitiful tale of woe well worded and logically put together, out +of which he made a good livelihood. Nature, as though to favour his +designs, had given him a face which excited sympathy, and he had the wit +to cover his eyes, his own tell-tale feature, with coloured glasses. He +had cheated several scores<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> of persons in the Slav colony of Munich, and +had then gone in search of other pastures. How he had obtained +possession of the Wiener Gigerl was a mystery as yet unsolved. It had +certainly seemed odd in the tobacconist's opinion that a man of such +outward appearance should have received such an extremely improbable +Christmas present, for such the adventurer declared the doll to be, from +a rich aunt in Warsaw, who refused to give him a penny of ready money +and had caused him to be turned from her doors by her servants when he +had last visited her, on the ground that he had joined the Russian +Orthodox Church without her consent. The facetious young villain had +indeed declared that she had sent him the puppet as a piece of scathing +irony, illustrative of his character as she conceived it. But though +such an illustration would have been apt beyond question, yet it seemed +improbable that the aunt would have chosen such a means of impressing it +upon her nephew's mind. Fischelowitz, however, asked no questions, and +took the Gigerl as payment of the debt. The thing amused him, and it +diverted him to construct an imaginary chain of circumstances to explain +how the man in the coloured glasses had got possession of it. It was of +course wholly inconceivable that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> even the most accomplished shop-lifter +should have carried off an object of such inconvenient proportions from +the midst of its fellows and under the very eyes of the vendor. If he +had supposed a theft possible, Fischelowitz would never have allowed the +doll to remain on his premises a single day. He was too kind-hearted, +also, to blame the Count, as his wife did, for having been the promoter +of the loan, for he readily admitted that he would have lent as much, +had he made the vagabond's acquaintance under any other circumstances.</p> + +<p>But the Count, since Akulina had expressed herself with so much force +and precision, could not look upon the affair in the same light. However +Fischelowitz regarded it, Akulina had made it clear that the Count ought +to be held responsible for the loss, and it was not in the nature of +such a man, no matter how wretched his own estate, to submit to the +imputation of being concerned in borrowing money which was never to be +repaid. His natural impulse had been to promise repayment instantly, and +as he was expecting to be turned into a rich man on the morrow the +engagement seemed an easy one to keep. It would be more difficult to +explain why he wanted to take away the broken puppet with him. Possibly +he felt that in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> removing it from the shop, he was taking with it even +the memory of the transaction of which the blame had been so bitterly +thrown on him; or, possibly, he was really attached to the toy for its +associations, or, lastly, he may have felt impelled to save it from +Akulina's destroying wrath, so far as it yet could be said to be saved.</p> + +<p>As has been said, he had not dined on that day, and he would very +probably have forgotten to eat, even after being reminded of the meal by +the tobacconist, had he not passed, on his way homeward, the obscure +restaurant in which he and the other men who worked for Fischelowitz +were accustomed to get their food and drink. This fifth-rate +eating-house rejoiced in the attractive name of the "Green Wreath," a +designation painted in large dusty green Gothic letters upon the grey +walls of the dilapidated house in which it was situated. There are not +to be found in respectable Munich those dens of filth and drunkenness +which belong to greater cities whose vices are in proportion greater +also. In Munich the strength of fiery spirits is drowned in oceans of +mild beer, a liquid of which the head will stand more than the waistband +and which, instead of exciting to crime, predisposes the consumer to +peaceful and lengthened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> sleep. The worst that can be said of the poorer +public-houses in Munich, is that they are frequented by the poorer +people, and that as the customers bring less money than elsewhere, there +is less drinking in proportion, and a greater demand for large +quantities of very filling food at very low rates. As a general rule, +such places are clean and decently kept, and the sight of a drunken man +in the public room would excite very considerable astonishment, besides +entailing upon the culprit a summary expulsion into the street and a +rather forcible injunction not to repeat the offence.</p> + +<p>The four windows of the establishment which opened upon the narrow +street were open, for the weather had become sultry even out of doors, +and the guests wanted fresh air. At one of these windows the Count saw +the heads of Dumnoff and Schmidt. With the instinct of the poor man, the +Count felt in his pocket to see whether he had any money, and was +somewhat disturbed to find but a solitary piece of silver, feebly +supported on either side by a couple of one-penny pieces. He had +forgotten that he had refused to accept his pay for the day's work, and +it required an effort of memory to account for the low state of his +funds. But what he had with him was sufficient for his wants, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +settling his parcel under his arm he ascended the three or four steps +which gave access to the inn, and entered the public room. Besides the +Russian and the Cossack, there were three public porters seated at the +next table, dressed in their blue blouses, their red cloth caps hanging +on the pegs over their heads, all silent and similarly engaged. Each had +before him a piece of that national cheese of which the smell may almost +be heard, each had lately received a thick, irregularly-shaped hunch of +dark bread, and they had one pot of beer and one salt-cellar amongst +them. They all had honest German faces, honest blue eyes, horny hands +and round shoulders. Another table, in a far corner, was occupied by a +poorly-dressed old woman in black, dusty and evidently tired. A covered +basket stood on a chair at her elbow, she was eating an +unwholesome-looking "knödel" or boiled potato ball, and half a pint of +beer stood before her still untouched. As for the Cossack and Dumnoff, +they had finished their meal. The former was smoking a cigarette through +a mouth-piece made by boring out the well-dried leg-bone of a chicken +and was drinking nothing. Dumnoff had before him a small glass of the +common whisky known as "corn-brandy" and was trying to give it a flavour +resembling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> the vodka of his native land by stirring pepper into it with +the blade of an old pocket-knife. Both looked up, without betraying any +surprise, as the Count entered and sat himself down at the end of their +oblong table, facing the open window and with his back to the room. A +word of greeting passed on each side and the two relapsed into silence, +while the Count ordered a sausage "with horse-radish" of the sour-sweet +maiden of five-and-thirty who waited on the guests. The Cossack, always +observant of such things, looked at the oddly-shaped package which the +Count had brought with him, trying to divine its contents and signally +failing in the attempt. Dumnoff, who did not like the Count's +gentlemanlike manners and fine speech, sullenly stirred the fiery +mixture he was concocting. The colour on his prominent cheek-bones was a +little brighter than before supper, but otherwise it was impossible to +say that he was the worse for the half-pint of spirits he had certainly +absorbed since leaving his work. The man's strong peasant nature was +proof against far greater excesses than his purse could afford.</p> + +<p>"What is the news?" inquired Johann Schmidt, still eyeing the bundle +curiously, and doubtless hoping that the Count would soon inform him of +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> contents. But the latter saw the look and glanced suspiciously at +the questioner.</p> + +<p>"No news, that I know of," he answered. "Except for me," he added, after +a pause, and looking dreamily out of the window at a street lamp that +was burning opposite. "To-morrow, at this time, I shall be off."</p> + +<p>"And where are you going?" asked the Cossack, good-humouredly. "Are you +going for long, if I may ask?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes. I shall never come back to Munich." He had been speaking in +German, but noticing that the other guests in the room were silent, and +thinking that they might listen, he broke off into Russian. "I shall go +home, at last," he said, his face brightening perceptibly as his visions +of wealth again rose before his eyes. "I shall go home and rest myself +for a long time in the country, and then, next winter, perhaps, I will +go to Petersburg."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, I wish you a pleasant journey," said Schmidt. "So there is +to be no mistake about the fortune this time?"</p> + +<p>"This time?" repeated the Count, as though not understanding. "Why do +you say this time?"</p> + +<p>"Because you have so often expected it before," returned the Cossack +bluntly, but without malice.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I do not remember ever saying so," said the other, evidently searching +among his recollections.</p> + +<p>"Every Tuesday," growled Dumnoff, sipping his peppery liquor. "Every +Tuesday since I can remember."</p> + +<p>"I think you must be mistaken," said the Count, politely.</p> + +<p>Dumnoff grunted something quite incomprehensible, and which might have +been taken for the clearing of his huge throat after the inflaming +draught. The Cossack was silent, and his bright eyes looked pityingly at +his companion.</p> + +<p>"And you have begun to put together your parcels for the journey, I +see," he observed after a time, when the Count had got his morsel of +food and was beginning to eat it. His curiosity gave him no rest.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the Count, mysteriously. "That is something which I +shall probably take with me, as a remembrance of Munich."</p> + +<p>"I should not have thought that you needed anything more than a +cigarette to remind you of the place," remarked Dumnoff.</p> + +<p>The Count smiled faintly, for, considering Dumnoff's natural dulness, +the remark had a savour of wit in it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That is true," he said. "But there are other things which could remind +me even more forcibly of my exile."</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it? Tell us!" cried Dumnoff, impatiently enough, but +somewhat softened by the Count's appreciation of his humour. At the same +time he put out his broad red hand in the direction of the parcel as +though he would see for himself.</p> + +<p>"Let it be!" said Schmidt sharply, and Dumnoff withdrew his hand again. +He had fallen into the habit of always doing what the Cossack told him +to do, obeying mutely, like a well-trained dog, though he obeyed no one +else. The descendant of freemen instinctively lorded it over the +descendant of the serf, and the latter as instinctively submitted.</p> + +<p>The Count's temper, however, was singularly changeable on this day, for +he did not seem to resent Dumnoff's meditated attack upon the package, +as he would certainly have done under ordinary circumstances.</p> + +<p>"If you are so very curious to know what it is, I will tell you," he +said. "You know the Wiener Gigerl?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," answered both men together.</p> + +<p>"Well, that is it, in that parcel."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The Gigerl!" exclaimed the Cossack. Dumnoff only opened his small eyes +in stupid amazement. Both knew something of the circumstances under +which Fischelowitz had come into possession of the doll, and both knew +what store the tobacconist set by it.</p> + +<p>"Then you have paid the fifty marks?" asked Schmidt, whose curiosity was +roused instead of satisfied.</p> + +<p>"No. I shall pay the money to-morrow. I have promised to do so. As it +chances, it will be convenient." The Count smiled to himself in a +meaning way, as though already enjoying the triumph of laying the gold +pieces upon the counter under Akulina's flat nose.</p> + +<p>"And yet Fischelowitz has already given it to you! He must be very sure +of you—" With his usual lack of tact, Schmidt had gone further than he +meant to do, but the transaction savoured of the marvellous.</p> + +<p>"To be strictly truthful," said the Count, who had a Quixotic fear of +misleading in the smallest degree any one to whom he was speaking, "to +be exactly honest, there is a circumstance which makes it less +remarkable that Fischelowitz should have given me the doll at once."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Of course, of course!" exclaimed the Cossack, anxious to appear +credulous out of kindness. "Fischelowitz knows as well as you do +yourself how safe you are to get the money to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Naturally," replied the Count, with great calmness. "But besides that, +the Gigerl is broken—badly broken in the middle, and the musical box is +spoiled too."</p> + +<p>"Fischelowitz must have been very angry," observed Dumnoff.</p> + +<p>"Not at all. It was his wife. Akulina knocked it from the counter into +the farthest corner of the shop."</p> + +<p>"Tell us all about it," said Schmidt, more interested than ever.</p> + +<p>"Ah, that—that is quite another matter," answered the Count, reddening +perceptibly as he remembered Akulina's furious abuse.</p> + +<p>"If you do not, I have no doubt that she will," said Dumnoff, taking +another sip. "She always gives the news of you, before you come in the +morning, before we have made our first hundred."</p> + +<p>The Count grew redder still, the angry colour mantling in his lean +cheeks. He hesitated a moment, and then made up his mind.</p> + +<p>"If that is likely to happen," he cried, "I had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> better tell you the +truth myself, instead of giving her an opportunity of distorting it."</p> + +<p>"Much better," said the Cossack, eagerly. "One can believe you better +than her."</p> + +<p>"That is true, at all events," chimed in Dumnoff, who was only brutal +and never malicious.</p> + +<p>"Well, it happened in this way. Fischelowitz and I were talking of +to-morrow, I think, when she came in from the back shop, having +overheard something we had been saying. Of course she immediately took +advantage of my presence to exercise her wit upon me, a proceeding to +which I have grown accustomed, seeing that she is only a woman. Then +Fischelowitz told her to choose her language, and that started her +afresh. It was rather a fine specimen of chosen language that she gave +us, for she has a good command of our beautiful mother-tongue. She found +very strong words, and she said among other things that it was my fault +that her husband had got a Wiener Gigerl for fifty marks of good money. +And then Fischelowitz, in his easy way and while she was talking, wound +the doll up and set it before him on the counter and smiled at it. But +she went on, worse than before, and called me everything under the sun. +Of course I could do nothing but wait until she had finished, for I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +could not beat her, and I would not let her think that she could drive +me away by mere talk, bad as it was."</p> + +<p>"What did she call you?" asked Dumnoff, with a grin.</p> + +<p>"She called me a good-for-nothing," said the Count, reddening with anger +again, so that the veins stood out on his throat above his collar. "And +she called me, I think, an adventurer."</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" laughed Dumnoff. "I have been called by worse names than +that in my time!"</p> + +<p>"I have not," answered the Count, with sudden coolness. "However, +between me and Fischelowitz and the Gigerl, she grew so angry that she +struck the only one of us three against whom she dared lift hand. That +member of the company chanced to be the unfortunate doll. And then I +promised that to-morrow I would pay the money, and I made Fischelowitz +give it to me in a piece of newspaper, and there it is."</p> + +<p>"What a terrible smash there must have been in the shop!" said Dumnoff. +"I would like to have seen the lady's face."</p> + +<p>In their Russian speech, the difference between the original social +standing of the three men who now worked as equals, was well defined by +their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> way of speaking of Fischelowitz's wife. To Dumnoff, mujik by +origin and by nature, she was "barina," the town "lady," to the Cossack +she was "chosjaika," the "mistress," the wife of the "patron"—to the +Count she was Akulina, and when he addressed her he called her Akulina +Feodorovna, adding the derivative of her father's name in accordance +with the universal Russian custom.</p> + +<p>"Let us see the doll," said Schmidt, still curious. The Count, whose +eating had been interrupted by the telling of his story, pushed the +parcel towards the Cossack with one hand, while using his fork with the +other.</p> + +<p>Johann Schmidt carefully unwrapped the newspaper and exposed the +unfortunate Gigerl to view. Then with both hands he set it up before +him, raising the limp figure from the waist, and trying to put it into +position, until it almost recovered something of its old look of +insolence, though the eye-glass was broken and the little white hat +sadly battered. The three men contemplated it in silence, and the other +guests turned curious glances towards it. Dumnoff, as usual, laughed +hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"Rather the worse for wear," he observed.</p> + +<p>"Kreuzmillionendonnerwetter! That is my Gigerl!" roared a deep German +voice across the room.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + +<p>The three Russians started and looked round quickly. One of the porters, +a burly man with an angry scowl on his honest face, was already on his +legs and was striding towards the table.</p> + +<p>"That is my Gigerl!" he repeated, laying one heavy hand upon the board, +and thrusting the forefinger of the other under the doll's nose.</p> + +<p>Dumnoff stared at him with an expression which showed that he did not in +the least understand what was happening. Johann Schmidt's keen black +eyes looked wonderingly from the porter to the Count, while the latter +leaned back in his chair, contemplating the angry man with a calm +surprise which proved how little faith he placed in the assertion of +possession.</p> + +<p>"You are under a mistake," he said, with great politeness. "This doll is +the property of Herr Fischelowitz, the well-known tobacconist, and has +stood in the window of his shop nearly four months. These gentlemen"—he +waved his hand towards his two companions—"are well aware of the fact +and can vouch—"</p> + +<p>"That is all the same to me," interrupted the porter. "This is the +Gigerl which was stolen from me on New Year's eve—"</p> + +<p>"I repeat," said the Count, with dignity, "that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> you are altogether +mistaken. I will trouble you to leave us in peace and to make no more +disturbance, where you are evidently in error."</p> + +<p>His coolness exasperated the porter, who seemed very sure of what he +asserted.</p> + +<p>"That is what we shall see," he retorted in a menacing tone. "Meanwhile +it does not occur to me to leave you in peace and to make no more +trouble. I tell you that this Gigerl was stolen from me on New Year's +eve. I know it well enough, for I had to pay for it."</p> + +<p>"How can you prove that this is the one?" inquired the Cossack, who was +beginning to lose his temper.</p> + +<p>"You have nothing to say about it," said the porter, sharply. "I have to +do with this man"—he pointed down at the Count—"who has brought the +doll here, and pretends to know where it comes from."</p> + +<p>"Kerl!" exclaimed the Count, angrily. "Fellow! I am not accustomed to +being called 'man,' or to having my word doubted. You had better be +civil."</p> + +<p>"Then it is high time that you grew used to it," returned the porter, +growing more and more excited. "The police do not overwhelm fellows of +your kind with politeness."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Fellows?" cried the Count, losing his self-control altogether at being +called by the name he had just applied to the porter. Without a moment's +hesitation, he sprang from his chair, upsetting it behind him, and took +the burly German by the throat.</p> + +<p>"Call a policeman, Anton!" shouted the latter to one of his companions, +as he closed with his antagonist.</p> + +<p>The two other porters had risen from their places as soon as the Count +had laid his hands on their friend, and the one who answered to the name +of Anton promptly trotted towards the door, his heavy tread making the +whole room shake as he ran. The other came up quickly and attacked the +Count from behind, when Dumnoff, aroused at last to the pleasant +consciousness that a real fight was going on, brought down his clenched +fist with such earnestness of purpose on the top of the second porter's +crown that the latter reeled backwards and fell across the Count's chair +in an attitude rendered highly uncomfortable by the fact that the said +chair had been turned upside down at the beginning of the contest. +Having satisfied himself that the blow had taken effect, Dumnoff +proceeded to the other side of the field of battle, avoiding the +quickly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> moving bodies of the Count and the porter as they wrestled with +each other, and the mujik prepared to deal another sledge-hammer blow, +in all respects comparable with the first. A pleasant smile beamed and +spread over his broad, bony face as he lifted his fist, and it is +comparatively certain that he would have put an effectual end to the +struggle, had not Schmidt interfered with the execution of his amiable +intentions by catching his arm in mid-air. Even the Cossack's wiry +strength could not arrest the descent of the tremendous fist, but he +succeeded at least in diverting it from its aim, so that it took effect +in the middle of the porter's back, knocking most of the wind out of the +man's body and causing a diversion favourable to the Count's security. +Schmidt sprang in and separated the combatants.</p> + +<p>"There has been enough dancing already," he said, coolly, as he faced +the porter, who was gasping for breath. "But if you have not danced +enough, I shall be happy to take a turn with you round the room."</p> + +<p>The poor Count would, indeed, have been no match for his adversary +without the assistance of his friends. He possessed that sort of courage +which, when stung into activity by an insult, takes no account whatever +of the consequences, and his thin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> frame was animated by very excitable +nerves. But an exceedingly lean diet, and the habit of sitting during +many hours in a close atmosphere, rolling tobacco with his fingers, did +not constitute such a physical training as to make him a match for a +rough fellow whose occupation consisted in tramping long distances and +up and down long flights of stairs from morning till night, loaded with +more or less heavy burdens. He was now very pale and his heart beat +painfully as he endeavoured instinctively to smooth his long frock-coat, +from which a button had been torn out by the roots in a very apparent +place, and to settle his starched collar, which at the best of times +owed its stability to the secret virtues of a pin, and which at present +had made a quarter of a revolution upon itself, so that the +stiffly-starched corners, the Count's chief coquetry and pride, had +established themselves in an unseemly manner immediately below the left +ear.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the little restaurant was in an uproar. The host, a thin, +pale man in an apron and a shabby embroidered cap, had suddenly appeared +from the depths of the taproom, accompanied by his wife, a monstrous, +red-faced creature clothed in a grey flannel frock. The porter whom +Dumnoff had felled, and who was not altogether stunned, was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> kicking +violently in the attempt to gain his feet among the fallen chairs, a +dozen people had come in from the street at the noise of the fight and +stood near the door, phlegmatically watching the proceedings, and the +poor old woman from the country, who had been supping in the corner, had +got her basket on her knees, holding its handle tightly in one hand and +with the other grasping her half-finished glass of beer, in terror lest +some accident should cause the precious liquid to be spilled, but not +calm enough to put it in a place of safety by the simple process of +swallowing.</p> + +<p>"They are foreigners," remarked some one in the crowd at the door.</p> + +<p>"They are probably Bohemian journeymen," said a tinman who stood in +front of the others. "It serves them right for interfering with an +honest porter." The Bohemian journeymen are detested in Munich on +account of their willingness to work for low prices, which perhaps +accounted for the tinman's readiness to consider the strangers as +worsted in the contest.</p> + +<p>"We Germans fear God, and nothing else in the world," observed a +mealy-faced shoemaker, quoting Prince Bismarck's famous speech.</p> + +<p>The man who had wrestled with the Count seemed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> to have resigned himself +to the course of awaiting the police, and leaned back against the table +behind him, with folded arms, glaring at the Cossack, while the Count +was vainly attempting to recover possession of the pin which had +fastened his collar, and which he evidently suspected of having slipped +down his back, with the total depravity peculiar to all inanimate things +when they are most needed. But the second porter, having broken the +chair, upset a table covered with unused saucers for beer glasses, and +otherwise materially contributing to swell the din and increase the +already considerable havoc, had regained his feet and lost no time in +making for Dumnoff. The Russian, enchanted at the prospect of a renewal +of hostilities so unfortunately interrupted, met the newcomer half-way, +and, each embracing the other with cheerful alacrity, the two heavy men +began to stamp and turn round and round with each other like a couple of +particularly awkward bears attempting to waltz together. They were very +evenly matched for a wrestling bout, for although the German was by a +couple of inches the taller of the two, the Russian had the advantage in +breadth of shoulder and length of arm, as well as in the enormous +strength of his back. The Cossack, having assured himself that there was +to be fair-play,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> watched the proceedings with evident interest, while +the pale-faced host shambled round and round the room, imploring the +combatants to respect the reputation of his house and to desist, while +keeping himself at a safe distance from possible collision with the +bodies of the two, as they staggered and strained, and reeled and +whirled about.</p> + +<p>The Count at last abandoned the search of the lost pin, and having +pulled the front of his collar into a more normal position trusted to +luck to keep it there. The table at which the three had originally sat +had miraculously escaped upsetting, and on it lay the poor Gigerl, +stretched at full length on its back, calm and smiling in the midst of +the noise and confusion, like the corpse at an Irish wake after the +whisky has begun to take effect.</p> + +<p>The Count now thought it necessary to justify the unfortunate situation +in which he found himself, in the judgment of the spectators.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," he began, very earnestly and with a dignified gesture, "I +feel it necessary to explain the truth of this—" But he was interrupted +by the arrival of a policeman, who pushed his way through the crowd.</p> + + + + +<hr class="major" /> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="r9884" id="r9884"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> +</div> + +<p>"What is this row?" inquired the policeman in his official voice, as he +marched into the room.</p> + +<p>The man who was wrestling with Dumnoff was a German and a soldier. At +the authoritative words he relaxed his hold and made an effort to free +himself, a movement of which the Russian instantly took advantage by +throwing his adversary heavily, upsetting another table and thereby +bringing the confusion to its crisis. How far he would have gone if he +had been left to himself is uncertain, for the sudden appearance of two +more men in green coats, helmets and gold collars so emboldened the +spectators of the fight that they advanced in a body just as Dumnoff +threw himself upon the first policeman. The Russian's red face was wet +with perspiration, his small eyes were gleaming ferociously and his +thick hair hung in tangled locks over his forehead, producing with his +fair beard the appearance of a wild animal's mane. But for the timely +assistance of his colleagues, the representatives of the law, and, most +likely the majority of the spectators<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> would have found themselves in +the street in an exceedingly short space of time. But Dumnoff yielded to +the inevitable; a couple of well-planted blows delivered by the rescuing +party on the sides of his thick skull made him shake his head as a cat +does when its nose is sprinkled with water, and the mujik reluctantly +relinquished the struggle. At the same time the porter who had claimed +the doll came forward and touched his bare head with a military salute.</p> + +<p>"What is your name?" asked the first policeman, anxious to get to +business.</p> + +<p>"Jacob Goggelmann, Dienstmann number 87, formerly private in the Fourth +Artillery, lately messenger in the Thüringer Doll Manufactory."</p> + +<p>"Very good," said the policeman, anxious to take the side of his +countryman from the first, and certainly justified in doing so by the +circumstances. "And what is your complaint?"</p> + +<p>"That doll, there, on the table," said the porter, "was stolen from me +on New Year's eve, and now that man"—he pointed to the Count, who stood +stiffly looking on—"that man has got possession of it."</p> + +<p>"And who stole it from you?" inquired the policeman with that acuteness +in the art of cross-examination<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> for which the police are in all +countries so justly famous.</p> + +<p>"Ja, Herr Wachtmeister, if I had known that—" suggested the porter.</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course," interrupted the other. "That man stole the doll +from you, you say?"</p> + +<p>"Somebody stole it with my basket, as I stopped to drink a measure in +the yard of the Hofbräuhaus, and I had to pay for it out of my caution +money, and I lost my place into the bargain, and there lies the accursed +thing."</p> + +<p>The policeman, apparently quite satisfied with the porter's story, +turned upon the Count with a blustering and overbearing manner.</p> + +<p>"Now, then," he said, roughly, "give an account of yourself. Who are you +and what are you doing here? But that is a foolish question; I know +already that you are a Bohemian and a journeyman tinker."</p> + +<p>"A Bohemian? And a journeyman tinker?" repeated the Count, almost +speechless with anger for a moment. "I am neither," he added, +endeavouring to control himself, and settling his refractory collar with +one hand. "I am a Russian gentleman."</p> + +<p>"A gentleman—and a Russian," said the policeman, slowly, as though +putting no faith in the first<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> statement and very little in the second. +"I think I can provide you with a lodging for the night," he added, +facetiously.</p> + +<p>"Slip past me, jump out of the window and run!" whispered the Cossack in +the Count's ear, in Russian.</p> + +<p>"What are you saying in your infernal language?" asked the official.</p> + +<p>"My friend advised me to run away," said the Count, coolly sitting down, +as though he were master of the situation. "Unfortunately for me, I was +not taught to use my legs in that way when I was a boy."</p> + +<p>"I was," said the Cossack. "Good-evening, Master Policeman." He took his +hat from the peg on the wall where it had hung undisturbed throughout +the confusion, and bowing gravely to the man in uniform made as though +he would go out of the room.</p> + +<p>"So, so, not quite so fast, my friend," said the policeman, putting +himself in the way. "Heigh! heigh! Stop him! Don't let him go," he +bawled, a second later.</p> + +<p>Schmidt had paused a minute, watching his opportunity, then, taking a +quick step backwards, he had vaulted through the open window with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +agility of a cat, and was flying down the empty street at the speed only +attainable by that deceptive domestic animal when pressed for time and +anxious for its own safety.</p> + +<p>"Sobáka!" growled Domnoff, disgusted at his companion's defection.</p> + +<p>"Either talk in a language that human beings can understand, or do not +talk at all," said one of the two men who guarded him.</p> + +<p>Seeing that pursuit was useless, the spokesman of the police turned to +the Count, twice as blustering and terrible as before.</p> + +<p>"This settles the question," he said. "To the police station you go, you +and your bear-man of an accomplice. Potzbombardendonnerwetter! You +Sappermentskerls! I will teach you to resist the police, to steal dolls +and to jump out of windows! Now then, right about face—march!"</p> + +<p>The Count did not stir from his chair. Dumnoff looked at him as though +to ask instructions of a superior.</p> + +<p>"If you can manage one of them, I can take these two," he said in +Russian. Suiting the action to the word, he suddenly bent down, slipped +his arms round the legs of the two policemen, hurled them simultaneously +head over heels and then charged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> the crowd, head downwards, upsetting +every one who came in his way, and bursting into the street by sheer +superior weight and impetus. An instant later, his shock head appeared +at the window through which the Cossack had escaped.</p> + +<p>"Come along!" he shouted to the Count, in his own language. "I have +locked the street door and they cannot get out. Jump through the +window."</p> + +<p>"Go, my friend," answered the Count, calmly. "I will not run away."</p> + +<p>"You had much better come," insisted Dumnoff, apparently indifferent to +the noise of the crowd as it tried to force open the closed door, and +shaking off two or three men who had made their way out into the street +with him. He held the key in one hand, and his assailants had small +chance of getting it away.</p> + +<p>"You will not come?" he repeated. But the Count shook his head, within +the room.</p> + +<p>"Then I will not run away either," said Dumnoff, the good side of his +dull nature showing itself at last. With the utmost indifference to +consequences he returned to the door, unlocked it, and strode through +the midst of the people, who made way readily enough before him, after +their late painful experience of his manner of making way for himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I have changed my mind," he said, in German, quietly placing himself +between his late keepers, who were alternately rubbing themselves and +brushing the dust off each other's clothes after their tumble.</p> + +<p>In the astonished silence which succeeded Dumnoff's return, the Count's +voice was heard again.</p> + +<p>"I am both anxious and ready to explain everything, if you will do me +the civility to listen," he said. "The doll is the property of Herr +Fischelowitz, the well-known tobacconist—"</p> + +<p>"We shall see presently what you have to say for yourself," interrupted +the policeman. "We have had enough of these devilish fellows. Come, put +them in handcuffs and off with them. And you three gentlemen," he added, +turning to the three porters, "will have the goodness to accompany us to +the station, in order to give your evidence."</p> + +<p>"But my furniture and my beer saucers!" exclaimed the pallid host, +suddenly remembering his losses. "Who is to pay for them?"</p> + +<p>The Count answered the question for him.</p> + +<p>"You, Master Host, who know us and have had our regular custom for +years, but who have not dared to say a word in our defence throughout +this disgraceful affair, you, I say, deserve to lose all that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> you have +lost. Nevertheless, I can assure you that I will myself pay for what has +been broken."</p> + +<p>The host was not much consoled by this magnanimous promise, which was +received with jeers by the crowd. There was no time, however, to discuss +the question. Dumnoff had quietly submitted his two huge fists to the +handcuffs and a second pair was produced, to fit the Count. At this +indignity he drew himself up proudly.</p> + +<p>"Have I resisted the authority, or attempted to run away?" he inquired +with flashing eyes.</p> + +<p>The policeman had nothing to say to this very just question.</p> + +<p>"Then I advise you to consider what you are doing. In spite of my +appearance, which, I admit, is at present somewhat disorderly, I am a +Russian nobleman, as you will discover so soon as I am submitted to a +properly conducted examination in the presence of your officers. I have +not the least intention of running away, and if this doll was stolen, I +was not connected in any way with the theft. Since I respect the +authorities, I insist upon being respected by them, and if I am treated +in a degrading manner in spite of my protests, there are those in Munich +who will bring the case to proper notice in my own country. I am ready +to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> accompany you quietly wherever you choose to show me the way."</p> + +<p>Something in his manner impressed the officials with the possible truth +of his words. They looked at each other and nodded.</p> + +<p>"Very well," said the one who was conducting the arrest.</p> + +<p>"Moreover," said the Count, "I crave permission to carry myself the +object of contention, until the other claimant has established his right +of possession."</p> + +<p>So saying the Count took the broken Gigerl from the table where it lay, +and carrying it upon his hands before him, like a baby, he solemnly +walked in the direction of the door, thus heading the procession, which +was accompanied into the street by the idlers who had collected inside.</p> + +<p>"God be thanked," said the old woman in the corner devoutly, "I have yet +my beer!"</p> + +<p>"And to think that only one of them has paid for his supper," moaned the +pale-faced innkeeper, sitting down upon a chair and contemplating the +wreck of his belongings with a haggard eye. The "Gigerl-night" was +remembered for many a long year in the "Green Wreath Inn."</p> + +<p>At the police station the arresting party told their own story in their +own way, very much to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> disadvantage of the Russians and very much in +favour of the porters and of the officials themselves. The latter, +indeed, enlarged so much upon the atrocities perpetrated by Dumnoff as +to weary the superior officer. The Cossack having escaped, the policemen +did not mention him. The officer glanced at Dumnoff.</p> + +<p>"Your name?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"Victor Ivanowitch Dumnoff."</p> + +<p>"Occupation?"</p> + +<p>"Cigarette-maker in the manufactory of Christian Fischelowitz."</p> + +<p>"Lock him up," said the officer. "Resisting the police in the execution +of an arrest," he added, speaking to the scribe at his elbow.</p> + +<p>"Your name?" continued he, addressing the Count. "Boris Michaelovitch, +Count Skariatine."</p> + +<p>"Count?" repeated the officer. "We shall see. Occupation?"</p> + +<p>"I have been occupied in the manufacture of cigarettes," answered the +Count. "But as I was only engaged in this during a period of temporary +embarrassment from which I shall be relieved to-morrow, I may be +described as having no particular occupation."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + +<p>The officer stared incredulously for a moment and then nodded to the +scribe in token that he was to write down what was said.</p> + +<p>"Charged with having stolen a doll, is that it?" He turned to the +policeman in charge.</p> + +<p>"Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann."</p> + +<p>"May it please you, Herr Hauptmann, I did not say that," put in the +porter, coming forward.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?"</p> + +<p>"The man from whom the doll was stolen. Jacob Goggelmann, Dienstmann +number 87, formerly private in the Fourth Artillery, lately messenger in +the Thüringer Doll Manufactory."</p> + +<p>"When was the doll stolen?"</p> + +<p>"Last New Year's eve," answered the porter.</p> + +<p>"And you have not seen it until to-day?"</p> + +<p>"No, Herr Hauptmann."</p> + +<p>"Then how do you know it is the same one? I suppose it is not the only +doll of its kind in Munich."</p> + +<p>"I am sure of it. I was a messenger in the shop, Herr Hauptmann, and I +knew everything there, just as though I had been one of the young ladies +who serve the customers. Besides, you will find my name written in +pencil under the pedestal."</p> + +<p>"That is another matter," said the officer, taking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> the Gigerl and +holding it upside down to the gaslight. The reversing of the thing's +natural position produced some mysterious effect upon the musical box, +and the tune which had been so rudely interrupted by Akulina's +well-aimed blow, suddenly began again from the point at which it had +stopped, continuing for a few bars and then coming to an end with a +sharp twang and a little click. The policemen tittered audibly, and even +the captain smiled faintly in his big yellow beard. Then he knit his +brows as he deciphered something which was written on the pinewood under +the base.</p> + +<p>"You should have said so at once," he observed. "Your name is there, as +you assert."</p> + +<p>"It was written to show that I was to take it. I had it in a basket with +other things. I put it down a moment in the yard of the Hofbräuhaus, and +when I came back the basket was gone."</p> + +<p>"And what do you know about it?" The question was addressed to the +Count.</p> + +<p>"Seeing that the porter is evidently right," said the Count, covering +with his hat the point from which the button had been torn, and holding +the other hand rather nervously to his throat, as though trying to keep +himself from falling to pieces, "I have nothing more to say. I will not +be accused of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> inculpating any one in this disastrous affair. I will +only say that the doll has stood since early in the year in the show +window of Christian Fischelowitz, the tobacconist, who certainly had no +knowledge of the way in which it was obtained by the person who brought +it to him."</p> + +<p>"He is an extremely respectable person," observed the officer. "If you +can prove what you say, I will not detain you further. Have you any +witness here?"</p> + +<p>"There is Herr Dumnoff," said the Count. The officer smiled and +perpetrated an official jest.</p> + +<p>"Herr Dumnoff has given evidence of great strength, but owing to his +peculiar situation at the present time, I cannot trust to the strength +of his evidence."</p> + +<p>The policemen laughed respectfully.</p> + +<p>"Have you no one else?" asked the officer.</p> + +<p>"Herr Fischelowitz will willingly vouch for what I say."</p> + +<p>"At this hour, Herr Fischelowitz is doubtless asleep, and would +certainly be justified in refusing to come here out of mere +complaisance. I am afraid, Count Skariatine, that I must have the honour +of being your host until morning."</p> + +<p>"It is impossible to describe our relative positions<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> with greater +courtesy," answered the Count, gravely, and not taking the least notice +of the officer's ironical tone. The latter looked at the speaker +curiously and then suddenly changed his manner. He was convinced that he +was speaking with a gentleman.</p> + +<p>"I regret that I am obliged to put you to such inconvenience," he said, +politely. "Treat the gentleman with every consideration," he added, +addressing the policemen in a tone of authority, "and let me have no +complaints of unnecessary rudeness either."</p> + +<p>"I thank you, Herr Hauptmann," said the Count, simply.</p> + +<p>Thus was the Count deprived of his liberty on the very eve of his return +to all the brilliant advantages of wealth and social station. It was +certainly a most unfortunate train of circumstances which had led him by +such quick stages from his parting with Vjera to the wooden bench and +the board pillow of the police-station. It looked as though the Gigerl +were possessed of an evil spirit determined to work out the Count's +destruction, as though the wretched adventurer who had first stolen it +and palmed it off upon Fischelowitz had laid a curse upon it, whereby it +was destined to breed dissension and strife wherever it remained and to +the direct injury of whomsoever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> chanced to possess it for the time +being. It had been the cause of serious disaster to the porter in the +first instance, it had next represented to Fischelowitz a dead loss in +money of fifty marks, it had become a thorn in the side to Akulina, it +had led to one of the most violent quarrels she had ever engaged in with +her husband, its limp and broken form had cost much broken crockery and +some broken furniture to the host of the "Green Wreath Inn," had been +the cause of several ponderous blows dealt and received by Dumnoff, had +produced the violent fall, upon a hard board floor, of a porter and two +policemen and had ultimately brought the Count to prison for the night. +Its value had become very great, for it had been paid for twice over, +once by the man from whom it had been stolen, by the forfeiture of his +caution money, and once by Fischelowitz in the sum of fifty marks lent +to an adventurer; furthermore, the Count had solemnly pledged his word +as a gentleman to pay for it a third time on the morrow, he having in +his worldly possession the sum of one silver mark and two German pennies +at the time of entering into the engagement. The actual sum of money +paid and promised to be paid on the body of the now ruined Gigerl, now +amounted, with interest, to more than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> four times its original value, +thus constituting one of those interesting problems in real and +comparative value so interesting to the ingenuous political economist, +who believes that all value can be traced to supply and demand. Now, +although the Gigerl was but a single doll, the supply of him, so to +speak, had been surprisingly abundant, and the demand, if represented by +the desire of any one person concerned to possess him, may be +represented by the smallest of zeros. The consideration of so intricate +a question belongs neither to the inventor of fiction nor to the +historian of facts, and may therefore be abandoned to the political +economist, who may, perhaps, be said to partake of the nature of both +while possessing the virtues of neither.</p> + +<p>The Count was in prison, therefore, on the eve of his return to +splendour, and his companion in captivity was Dumnoff the mujik. They +found themselves in a well-ventilated room, having high grated windows, +through which the stars were visible, and dimly lighted by a small gas +flame which burned in a lantern of white ground glass. The place was +abundantly, if not luxuriously, furnished with flat wooden pallets, each +having at the head a slanting piece of board supposed to do duty for a +pillow. Outside the open door a policeman paced the broad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> passage, a +man taken from the mounted detachment and whose scabbard and spurs +clattered and jingled, hour after hour, as he walked. The sound produced +something half rhythmical, like a broken tune in search of itself, and +the change of sentinels made no perceptible difference in the regular +nature of the unceasing noise.</p> + +<p>Dumnoff, relieved of his handcuffs, stretched himself upon the pallet +assigned to him, clasped his hands under the back of his head, and +stared at the ceiling. The Count sat upon the edge of his board, +crossing one knee over the other and looking at his nails, or trying to +look at them in the insufficient light. In some distant part of the +building a door was occasionally opened and shut, and the slight +concussion sent long echoes down the stone passages. The Count sighed +audibly.</p> + +<p>"It is not so bad, after all," remarked Dumnoff. "I did not expect to +end the evening so comfortably."</p> + +<p>"It is bad enough," said the Count. He produced a crumpled piece of +newspaper which contained a little tobacco, and rolled a cigarette +thoughtfully. "It is bad enough," he repeated as he began to smoke.</p> + +<p>"It would have been very easy to get away, if you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> had done like that +brute of a Schmidt who ran away and left us."</p> + +<p>"I do not think Schmidt is a brute," observed the other, blowing a huge +ring of white smoke out into the dusk.</p> + +<p>"I did not think so either. But I had arranged it all very well for you +to get away—only you would not. You see, by an accident, the key was +outside the door, so I kicked the people back and locked it. It would +have taken a quarter of an hour for them to open it, and if you had only +jumped—"</p> + +<p>He turned his head, and glanced at the Count's spare, sinewy figure.</p> + +<p>"You are light, too," he continued, "and you could not have hurt +yourself. I cannot understand why you stayed."</p> + +<p>"Dumnoff, my friend," said the Count, gravely, "we look at things in a +different way. It is my duty to tell you that I think you behaved in the +most honourable manner, under the circumstances, and I am deeply +indebted to you for the gallant way in which you came back to stand by +me, when you were yourself free. In a nobler warfare, such an action +would have been rewarded with a cross of honour, as it truly deserved. +It is true, as well, that you were not so intimately connected with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +main question at stake, as I was, since it was I who was suspected of +being in possession of unlawfully gotten goods. You were consequently, I +think, at liberty to take your freedom if you could get it, without +consulting your conscience further. Now my position was, and is, very +different. I do not speak of any personal prejudice against the mere act +of running away, considered as an immediate means of escape from +disagreeable circumstances, with the hope of ultimate immunity from all +unpleasant consequences. That is a matter of early education."</p> + +<p>"I had very little early education," observed Dumnoff. "And none at all +afterwards."</p> + +<p>"My friend, it is not for you and me to enter into the history of our +misfortunes. We have met in the vat of poverty to be seethed alike in +the brew of unhappiness. We have sat at the same daily labour, we have +shared often the same fare, but there is that in each of us which we can +keep sacred from the contamination of confidence, and which will +withstand even the thrusts of poverty. I mean our individual selves, the +better part of us, the nobler element which has suffered, as +distinguished from the grosser, which may yet enjoy. But I am wandering +a little. I am afraid I sometimes do. I return to the point. For me to +take advantage of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> your generous attempt to free me would have been to +act as though I had a moral cause for flight. In other words, it would +have been to acknowledge that I had committed some dishonourable +action."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me that to get away would have been the best way out of it. +They would not have caught you if you had trusted to me, and if they did +not catch you they could not prove anything against you."</p> + +<p>"The suspicion would have remained, and the disgrace in my own eyes," +answered the Count. "The question of physical fear is very different. I +have been told that it depends upon the nerves and the action of the +heart, and that courage is greatly increased by the presence of +nourishment in the stomach. The same cannot be said of moral bravery, +which proceeds more from the fear of seeming contemptible in our own +eyes than from the wish to seem honourable in the estimation of others."</p> + +<p>"I daresay," said Dumnoff, who was growing sleepy and who understood +very little of his companion's homily.</p> + +<p>"Precisely," replied the latter. "And yet even the question of physical +courage is very complicated in the present case. It cannot be said, for +instance, that you ran away from physical fear, after giving<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> proof of +such astonishing physical superiority. Your deeds this evening make the +labours of Hercules dwindle to the proportions of mere mountebank's +tricks."</p> + +<p>"Was anybody badly injured?" asked Dumnoff, suddenly aroused by the +pleasing recollections of the contest.</p> + +<p>"I believe not seriously; I think I saw everybody whom you upset get on +his feet sooner or later."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Dumnoff with a sigh, "it cannot be helped. I did my best."</p> + +<p>"I should think that you would be glad," suggested the Count. "You +showed your prowess without any fatal result."</p> + +<p>"Anything for a change in this dull life," grumbled the peasant with an +air of dissatisfaction.</p> + +<p>"With such a prospect of immediate change before me, I suppose I ought +not to blame your longing for excitement. Nevertheless I consider it +fortunate that nothing worse happened."</p> + +<p>"You might take me with you to Russia," said Dumnoff, with a short +laugh. "That would be an excitement, at least."</p> + +<p>"After the way in which you have stood by me this evening, I will not +refuse you anything. If you wish it, I will take you with me. I take it +for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> granted that you are not prevented by any especial reason from +entering our country."</p> + +<p>"Not that I am aware of," laughed Dumnoff. "Do you know how I got to +Germany? A gentleman from our part of the country brought me with him as +coachman. One day the horses ran away in Baden-Baden, and he turned me +out of the house."</p> + +<p>"That was very inconsiderate of him," observed the Count.</p> + +<p>"It is true that both the horses were killed," said Dumnoff, +thoughtfully. "And the prince broke his arm, and the carriage was in +good condition for firewood, and possibly I was a little gay—just a +little—though I was so much upset by the accident that I could not +remember exactly what happened before. Still—"</p> + +<p>"Your conduct on that particular day seems to have left much to be +desired," remarked the Count with some austerity.</p> + +<p>"It has been my bad luck to be in a great many accidents," said the +other. "But that one was remarkable. As far as I can recollect, we drove +into the Grand Duke's four-in-hand on one side and drove out of it on +the other. I never drove through a Grand Duke's equipage on any other +occasion. It was lucky that his Serenity did not happen to be in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> it +just at the time. There you have my history in a nutshell. As you say +you will take me with you, I thought you ought to know."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, certainly," answered the Count, vaguely. "I will take you +with me—but not as coachman, I think, Dumnoff. We may find some more +favourable sphere for your great physical strength."</p> + +<p>"Anything you like. It is a good joke to dream of such a journey, is it +not? Especially when one is locked up for the night in the +police-station."</p> + +<p>"It is certainly a relief to contemplate the prospect of such a change +to-morrow," said the Count, his expression brightening in the gloom.</p> + +<p>For a few moments there was silence between the two men. Dumnoff's small +eyes fixed themselves on the shadowy outlines of his companion's face, +as though trying to solve a problem far too complicated for his dull +intellect.</p> + +<p>"I wonder whether you are really mad," he said slowly, after a prolonged +mental effort.</p> + +<p>The Count started slightly and stared at the ex-coachman with a +frightened look.</p> + +<p>"Mad?" he repeated, nervously. "Who says I am mad? Why do you ask the +question?"</p> + +<p>"Most people say so," replied the other, evidently<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> without any +intention of giving pain. "Everybody who works with us thinks so."</p> + +<p>"Everybody? Everybody? I think you are dreaming, Dumnoff. What do you +mean?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that they think so because you have those queer fits of +believing yourself a rich count every week, from Tuesday night till +Thursday morning. Schmidt was saying only yesterday to poor Vjera—"</p> + +<p>"Vjera? Does she believe it too?" asked the Count in an unsteady voice, +not heeding the rest of the speech.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Dumnoff, carelessly. "Schmidt was saying to me only +yesterday that you were going to have a worse attack of it than usual +because you were so silent."</p> + +<p>"Vjera, too!" repeated the Count in a low voice. "And no one ever told +me—" He passed his hand over his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Tell me"—Dumnoff began in the tone of jocular familiarity which he +considered confidential—"tell me—the whole thing is just a joke of +yours to amuse us all, is it not? You do not really believe that you are +a count, any more than I really believe that you are mad, you know. You +do not act like a madman, except when you let the police<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> catch you and +lock you up for the night, instead of running away like a sensible man."</p> + +<p>The Count's face grew bright again all at once. In the present state of +his hopes no form of doubt seemed able to take a permanent hold of him.</p> + +<p>"No, I am not mad," he said. "But on the other hand, Dumnoff, it is my +conviction that you are exceedingly drunk. No other hypothesis can +account for your very singular remarks about me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am drunk, am I?" laughed the peasant. "It is very likely, and in +that case I had better go to sleep. Good-night, and do not forget that +you are to take me with you to Russia."</p> + +<p>"I will not forget," said the Count.</p> + +<p>Dumnoff stretched his heavy limbs on the wooden pallet, rolled his great +head once or twice from side to side until his fur-like hair made +something like a cushion and then, in the course of three minutes, fell +fast asleep.</p> + +<p>The Count sat upright in his place, drumming with his fingers upon one +knee.</p> + +<p>"It is a wonder that I am not mad," he said to himself. "But Vjera never +thought it of me—and that fellow is evidently the worse for liquor."</p> + + + + +<hr class="major" /> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="r7044" id="r7044"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> +</div> + +<p>Johann Schmidt had not fled from the scene of action out of any +consideration for his personal safety. He was, indeed, a braver man than +Dumnoff, in proportion as he was more intelligent, and though of a very +different temper, by no means averse to a fight if it came into his way. +He had foreseen what was sure to happen, and had realised sooner than +any one else that the only person who could set everything straight was +Fischelowitz himself. So soon as he was clear of pursuit, therefore, he +turned in the direction of the tobacconist's dwelling, walking as +quickly as he could where there were many people and running at the top +of his speed through such empty by-streets as lay in the direct line of +his course. He rushed up the three flights of steps and rang sharply at +the door.</p> + +<p>Akulina's unmistakable step was heard in the passage a moment later. +Schmidt would have preferred that Fischelowitz should have come himself, +though he managed to live on very good terms with Akulina. Though far +from tactful he guessed that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> in a matter concerning the Count, the +tobacconist would prove more obliging than his wife.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter?" inquired the mistress of the house, opening the +door wide after she had recognised the Cossack in the feeble light of +the staircase, by looking through the little hole in the panel.</p> + +<p>"Good-evening, Frau Fischelowitz," said Schmidt, trying to appear as +calm and collected as possible. "I would like to speak to your husband +upon a little matter of business."</p> + +<p>"He is not at home yet. I left him in the shop."</p> + +<p>Almost before the words were out of her mouth, Schmidt had turned and +was running down the stairs, two at a time. Akulina called him back.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute!" she cried, advancing to the hand-rail on the landing. +"What in the world are you in such a hurry about?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—nothing—nothing especial," answered the man, suddenly stopping and +looking up.</p> + +<p>Akulina set her fat hands on her hips and held her head a little on one +side. She had plenty of curiosity in her composition.</p> + +<p>"Well, I must say," she observed, "for a man who is not in a hurry about +anything, you are uncommonly brisk with your feet. If it is only a +matter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> of business, I daresay I will do as well as my husband."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I daresay," admitted Schmidt, scratching his head. "But this is +rather a personal matter of business, you see."</p> + +<p>"And you mean that you want some money, I suppose," suggested Akulina, +at a venture.</p> + +<p>"No, no, not at all—no money at all. It is not a question of money." He +hoped to satisfy her by a statement which was never without charm in her +ears. But Akulina was not satisfied; on the contrary, she began to +suspect that something serious might be the matter, for she could see +Schmidt's face better now, as he looked up to her, facing the gaslight +that burned above her own head. Having been violently angry not more +than an hour or two earlier, her nerves were not altogether calmed, and +the memory of the scene in the shop was still vividly present. There was +no knowing what the Count might not have done, in retaliation for the +verbal injuries she had heaped upon him, and her quick instinct +connected Schmidt's unusually anxious appearance and evident haste to be +off, with some new event in which the Count had played a part.</p> + +<p>"Have you seen the Count?" she inquired, just as Schmidt was beginning +to move again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the latter, trying to assume a doubtful tone of voice. +"I believe—in fact, I did see him—for a moment—"</p> + +<p>Akulina smiled to herself, proud of her own acuteness.</p> + +<p>"I thought so," she said. "And he has made some trouble about that +wretched doll—"</p> + +<p>"How did you guess that?" asked Schmidt, turning and ascending a few +steps. He was very much astonished.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know many things—many interesting things. And now you want to +warn my husband of what the Count has done, do you not? It must be +something serious, since you are in such a hurry. Come in, Herr Schmidt, +and have a glass of tea. Fischelowitz will be at home in a few minutes, +and you see I have guessed half your story, so you may as well tell me +the other half and be done with it. It is of no use for you to go to the +shop after him. He has shut up by this time, and you cannot tell which +way he will come home, can you? Much better come in and have a glass of +tea. The samovar is lighted and everything is ready, so that you need +not stay long."</p> + +<p>Schmidt lingered doubtfully a moment on the stairs. The closing hour was +certainly past in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> early-closing Munich, and he might miss the +tobacconist in the street. It seemed wiser to wait for him in his house, +and so the Cossack reluctantly accepted the invitation, which, under +ordinary circumstances, he would have regarded as a great honour. +Akulina ushered him into the little sitting-room and prepared him a +large glass of tea with a slice of lemon in it. She filled another for +herself and sat down opposite to him at the table.</p> + +<p>"The poor Count!" she exclaimed. "He is sure to get himself into trouble +some day. I suppose people cannot help behaving oddly when they are mad, +poor things. And the Count is certainly mad, Herr Schmidt."</p> + +<p>"Quite mad, poor man. He has had one of his worst attacks to-day."</p> + +<p>"Yes," assented the wily Akulina, "and if you could have seen him and +heard him in the shop this evening—" She held up her hands and shook +her head.</p> + +<p>"What did he do and say?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, such things, such things! Poor man, of course I am very sorry for +him, and I am glad that my husband finds room to employ him, and keep +him from starving. But really, this evening he quite made me lose my +temper. I am afraid I was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> a little rough, considering that he is +sensitive. But to hear the man talk about his money, and his titles, and +his dignities, when he is only just able to keep body and soul together! +It is enough to irritate the seven archangels, Herr Schmidt, indeed it +is! And then at the same time there was that dreadful Gigerl, and my +head was splitting—I am sure there will be a thunder-storm +to-night—altogether, I could not bear it any longer, and I actually +upset the Gigerl out of anger, and it rolled to the floor and was +broken. Of course it is very foolish to lose one's temper in that way, +but after all, I am only a weak woman, and I confess it was a relief to +me when I saw the poor Count take the thing away. I hope I did not +really hurt his feelings, for he is an excellent workman, in spite of +his madness. What did he say, Herr Schmidt? I would so like to know how +he took it. Of course he was very angry. Poor man, so mad, so completely +mad on that one point!"</p> + +<p>"To tell the truth," said Schmidt, who had listened attentively, "he did +not like what you said to him at all."</p> + +<p>"Well, really, was it my fault, Herr Schmidt? I am only a woman, and I +suppose I may be excused if I lose my temper once in a year or so. It +is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> very wearing on the nerves. Every Tuesday evening begins the same +old song about the fortune and letters, and the journey to Russia. One +gets very tired of it in the long-run. At first it used to amuse me."</p> + +<p>"Do you think that Herr Fischelowitz can have gone anywhere else instead +of coming home?" asked the Cossack, finishing the glass of tea, which he +had swallowed burning hot out of sheer anxiety to get away.</p> + +<p>"Oh no, indeed," cried Akulina in a tone of the most sincere conviction. +"He always tells me where he is going. You have no idea what a good +husband he is, and what a good man—though I daresay you know that after +being with us so many years. Now, I am sure that if he had the least +idea that anything had happened to the poor Count, he would run all the +way home in order to hear it as soon as possible."</p> + +<p>"No more tea, thank you, Frau Fischelowitz," said Schmidt, but she took +his glass with a quiet smile and shredded a fresh piece of lemon into it +and filled it up again, quite heedless of his protest. Schmidt resigned +himself, and thanked her civilly.</p> + +<p>"Of course," she said, presently, as she busied herself with the +arrangements of the samovar, "of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> course it is nothing so very serious, +is it? I daresay the Count has told you that he would not work any more +for us, and you are anxious to arrange the matter? In that case, you +need have no fear. I am always ready to forgive and forget, as they say, +though I am only a weak woman."</p> + +<p>"That is very kind of you," observed Schmidt, with a glitter in his eyes +which Akulina did not observe.</p> + +<p>"I guessed the truth, did I not?"</p> + +<p>"Not exactly. The trouble is rather more serious than that. The fact is, +as we were at supper, a man at another table saw the Gigerl in our hands +and swore that it had been stolen from him some months ago."</p> + +<p>"And what happened then?" asked Akulina with sudden interest.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you may as well know," said Schmidt, regretfully. "There was +a row, and the man made a great deal of trouble and at last the police +were called in, and I came to get Herr Fischelowitz himself to come and +prove that the Gigerl was his. You see why I am in such a hurry."</p> + +<p>"Do you think they have arrested the Count?"</p> + +<p>"I imagine that every one concerned would be taken to the +police-station."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And then?"</p> + +<p>"And then, unless the affair is cleared up, they will be kept there all +night."</p> + +<p>"All night!" exclaimed Akulina, holding up her hands in real or affected +horror. "Poor Count! He will be quite crazy, now, I fear—especially as +this is Tuesday evening."</p> + +<p>"But he must be got out at once!" cried Schmidt in a tone of decision. +"Herr Fischelowitz will surely not allow—"</p> + +<p>"No indeed! You have only to wait until he comes home, and then you can +go together. Or better still, if he does not come back in a quarter of +an hour, and if he has really shut up the shop as usual, you might look +for him at the Café Luitpold, and if he is not there, it is just +possible that he may have looked in at the Gärtner Platz Theatre, for +which he often has free tickets, and if the performance is over—I fancy +it is, by this time—he may be in the Café Maximilian, or he may have +gone to drink a glass of beer in the Platzl, for he often goes there, +and—well, if you do not find him in any of those places—"</p> + +<p>"But, good Heavens, Frau Fischelowitz, you said you were quite sure he +was coming home at once! Now I have lost all this time!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> + +<p>Schmidt had risen quickly to his feet, in considerable anxiety and +haste. Akulina smiled good-humouredly.</p> + +<p>"You see," she said, "it is just possible that to-night, as he was a +little annoyed with me for being sharp with the Count, he may have gone +somewhere without telling me. But I really could not foresee it, because +he is such a very good—"</p> + +<p>"I know," interrupted the Cossack. "If I miss him, you will tell him, +will you not? Thank you, and good-night, Frau Fischelowitz, I cannot +afford to wait a moment longer."</p> + +<p>So saying Johann Schmidt made for the door and got out of the house this +time without any attempt on the part of his amiable hostess to detain +him further. She had indeed omitted to tell him that her last speech was +not merely founded on a supposition, since Fischelowitz had really been +very much annoyed and had declared that he would not come home but would +spend the evening with a friend of his who lived in the direction of +Schwabing, one of the suburbs of Munich farthest removed from the places +in which she advised Schmidt to make search.</p> + +<p>The stout housewife disliked and even detested the Count for many +reasons all good in her own eyes, among which the chief one was that she +did<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> dislike him. She felt for him one of those strong and invincible +antipathies which trivial and cunning natures often feel for very +honourable and simple ones. To the latter the Count belonged, and +Akulina was a fine specimen of the former. If the Count had been +literally starving and clothed in rags, he would have been incapable of +a mean thought or of a dishonest action. Whatever his origin had been, +he had that, at least, of a nobility undeniable in itself. That his +character was simple in reality, may as yet seem less evident. He was +regarded as mad, as has been seen, but his madness was methodical and +did not overstep certain very narrow bounds. Beyond those limits within +which others, at least, did not consider him responsible, his chief idea +seemed to be to gain his living quietly, owing no man anything, nor +refusing anything to any man who asked it. This last characteristic, +more than any other, seemed to prove the possibility of his having been +brought up in wealth and with the free use of money, for his generosity +was not that of the vulgar spendthrift who throws away his possessions +upon himself quite as freely as upon his companions. He earned enough +money at his work to live decently well, at least, and he spent but the +smallest sum upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> his own wants. Nevertheless he never had anything to +spare for his own comfort, for he was as ready to give a beggar in the +street the piece of silver which represented a good part of the value of +his day's work as most rich people are to part with a penny. He never +inquired the reason for the request of help, but to all who asked of him +he gave what he had, gravely, without question, as a matter of course. +If Dumnoff's pockets were empty and his throat dry, he went to the Count +and got what he wanted. Dumnoff might be brutal, rude, coarse; it made +no difference. The Count did not care to know where the money went nor +when it would be returned, if ever. If Schmidt's wife—for he had a +wife—was ill, the Count lent all he had, if the children's shoes were +worn out, he lent again, and when Schmidt, who was himself extremely +conscientious in his odd way, brought the money back, the Count +generally gave it to the first poor person whom he met. Akulina supposed +that this habit belonged to his madness. Others, who understood him +better, counted it to him for righteousness, and even Dumnoff, the rough +peasant, showed at times a friendly interest in him, which is not +usually felt by the unpunctual borrower towards the uncomplaining +lender.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Akulina could understand none of these things. She belongs by nature +to the class of people whose first impulse on all occasions is to say: +"Money is money." There can be no mutual attraction of intellectual +sympathy between these, and those other persons who despise money in +their hearts, and would rather not touch it with their hands. It has +been seen also that the events connected with the Gigerl's first +appearance in the shop had been of a nature to irritate Akulina still +more. The dislike nourished in her stout bosom through long months and +years now approached the completion of its development, and manifested +itself as a form of active hatred. Akulina was delighted to learn that +there was a prospect of the Count's spending the night in the +police-station and she determined that Johann Schmidt should not find +her husband before the next day, and that when the partner of her bliss +returned—presumably pacified by the soothing converse of his +friend—she would not disturb his peace of mind by any reference to the +Count's adventures. It was therefore with small prospect of success that +the Cossack began his search for Fischelowitz.</p> + +<p>Only a man who has sought anxiously for another, all through the late +evening, in a great city, knows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> how hopeless the attempt seems after +the first hour. The rapid motion through many dusky streets, the looking +in, from time to time, upon some merry company assembled in a warm room +under a brilliant light, the anxious search among the guests for the +familiar figure, the disappointment, as each fancied resemblance shows, +on near approach, a face unknown to the searcher, the hurried exit and +the quick passage through the dark night air to the next +halting-place—all these impressions, following hurriedly upon each +other, confuse the mind and at last discourage hope.</p> + +<p>Schmidt did not realise how late it was, when, abandoning his search for +his employer, he turned towards the police-station in the hope of still +rendering some assistance to his friend. He could not gain admittance to +the presence of the officer in charge, however, and was obliged to +content himself with the assurance that the Count had been treated "with +consideration," as the phrase was, and that there would be plenty of +time for talking in the morning. The policemen in the guard-room were +sleepy and not disposed to enter into conversation. Schmidt turned his +steps in the direction of the tobacconist's house for the second time, +in sheer despair. But he found the street door shut<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> and the whole house +was dark. Nevertheless, he pulled the little handle upon which, by the +aid of a flickering match, he discovered a figure of three, +corresponding to the floor occupied by Fischelowitz. Again and again he +tugged vigorously at the brass knob until he could hear the bell +tinkling far above. No other sound followed, however, in the silence of +the night, though he strained his ears for the faintest echo of a +distant footfall and the slightest noise indicating that a window or a +door was about to be opened. He wondered whether Fischelowitz had come +home. If he had, Akulina had surely told him the story of the evening, +and he would have been heard of at the police-station, for it was +incredible that he should let the night pass without making an effort to +liberate the Count. Therefore the tobacconist had in all probability not +yet returned. The night was fairly warm, and the Cossack sat down upon a +doorstep, lighted a cigarette and waited. In spite of long years spent +in the midst of German civilisation, it was still as natural to him to +sit down in the open air at night and to watch the stars, as though he +had never changed his own name for the plain German appellation of +Johann Schmidt, nor laid aside the fur cap and the sheepskin coat of his +tribe for the shabby jacket<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> and the rusty black hat of higher social +development.</p> + +<p>There was no truth in Akulina's statement that a thunder-storm was +approaching. The stars shone clear and bright, high above the narrow +street, and the solitary man looked up at them, and remembered other +days and a freer life and a broader horizon; days when he had been +younger than he was now, a life full of a healthier labour, a horizon +boundless as that of the little street was limited. He thought, as he +often thought when alone in the night, of his long journeys on +horseback, driving great flocks of bleating sheep over endless steppes +and wolds and expanses of pasture and meadow; he remembered the +reddening of the sheep's woolly coats in the evening sun, the quick +change from gold to grey as the sun went down, the slow transition from +twilight to night, the uncertain gait of his weary beast as the darkness +closed in, the soft sound of the sheep huddling together, the bark of +his dog, the sudden, leaping light of the camp-fire on the distant +rising ground, the voices of greeting, the bubbling of the soup kettle, +the grateful rest, the song of the wandering Tchumák—the pedlar and +roving newsman of the Don. He remembered on holidays the wild racing and +chasing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> and the sports in the saddle, the picking up of the tiny +ten-kopek bit from the earth at a full gallop, the startling game in +which a row of fearless Cossack girls join hands together, daring the +best rider to break their rank with his plunging horse if he can, the +mad laughter of the maidens, the snorting and rearing of the animal as +he checks himself before the human wall that will not part to make way +for him. All these things he recalled, the change of the seasons, the +iron winter, the scorching summer, the glory of autumn and the freshness +of spring. Born to such a liberty, he had fallen into the captivity of a +common life; bred in the desert, he knew that his declining years would +be spent in the eternal cutting of tobacco in the close air of a back +shop; trained to the saddle, he spent his days seated motionless upon a +wooden chair. The contrast was bitter enough, between the life he was +meant to lead by nature, and the life he was made to lead by +circumstances. And all this was the result in the first instant of a +girl's caprice, of her fancy for another man, so little different from +himself that a Western woman could hardly have told the two apart. For +this, he had left the steppe, had wandered westward to the Dnieper and +southward to Odessa, northward again to Kiew, to Moscow, to +Nizni-Novgorod, back<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> again to Poland, to Krakau, to Prague, to Munich +at last. Who could remember his wanderings, or trace the route of his +endless journeyings? Not he himself, surely, any more than he could +explain the gradual steps by which he had been transformed from a Don +Cossack to a German tobacco-cutter in a cigarette manufactory.</p> + +<p>But his past life at least furnished him with memories, varied, +changing, full of light and life and colour, wherewith to while away an +hour's watching in the night. Still he sat upon his doorstep, watching +star after star as it slowly culminated over the narrow street and set, +for him, behind the nearest house-top. He might have sat there till +morning had he not been at last aware that some one was walking upon the +opposite pavement.</p> + +<p>His quick ear caught the soft fall of an almost noiseless footstep and +he could distinguish a shadow a little darker than the surrounding +shade, moving quickly along the wall. He rose to his feet and crossed +the street, not believing, indeed, that the newcomer could be the man he +wanted, but anxious to be fully satisfied that he was not mistaken. He +found himself face to face with a young girl, who stopped at the street +door of the tobacconist's house,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> just as he reached it. Her head was +muffled in something dark and he could not distinguish her features. She +started on seeing him, hesitated and then laid her hand upon the same +knob which Schmidt had pulled so often in vain.</p> + +<p>"It is of no use to ring," he said, quietly. "I have given it up."</p> + +<p>"Herr Schmidt!" exclaimed the girl in evident delight. It was Vjera.</p> + +<p>"Yes—but, in Heaven's name, Vjera, what are you doing here at this hour +of the night? You ought to be at home and asleep."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you have not heard the dreadful news," cried poor Vjera in accents +of distress. "Oh, if we cannot get in here, come with me, for the love +of Heaven, and help me to get him out of that horrible place—oh, if you +only knew what has happened!"</p> + +<p>"I know all about it, Vjera," answered the Cossack. "That is the reason +why I am here. I was with them when it happened and I ran off to get +Fischelowitz. As ill luck would have it, he was out."</p> + +<p>In a few words Schmidt explained the whole affair and told of his own +efforts. Vjera was breathless with excitement and anxiety.</p> + +<p>"What is to be done? Dear Herr Schmidt!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> What is to be done?" She wrung +her hands together and fixed her tearful eyes on his.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid that there is nothing to be done until morning—"</p> + +<p>"But there must be something, there shall be something done! They will +drive him mad in that dreadful place—he is so proud and so +sensitive—you do not know—the mere idea of being in prison—"</p> + +<p>"It is not so bad as that," answered Schmidt, trying to reassure her. +"They assured me that he was treated with every consideration, you know. +Of course that means that he was not locked up like a common prisoner."</p> + +<p>"Do you think so?" Vjera's tone expressed no conviction in the matter.</p> + +<p>"Certainly. And it shows that he is not really suspected of anything +serious—only, because Fischelowitz could not be found—"</p> + +<p>"But he is there—there in his house, asleep!" cried Vjera. "And we can +wake him up—of course we can. He cannot be sleeping so soundly as not +to hear if we ring hard. At least his wife will hear and look out of the +window."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid not. I have tried it."</p> + +<p>But Vjera would not be discouraged and laid hold<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> of the bell-handle +again, pulling it out as far as it would come and letting it fly back +again with a snap. The same results followed as when Schmidt had made +the same attempt. There was a distant tinkling followed by total +silence. Vjera repeated the operation.</p> + +<p>"You cannot do more than I have done," said her companion, leaning his +back against the door and watching her movements.</p> + +<p>"I ought to do more."</p> + +<p>"Why, Vjera?"</p> + +<p>"Because he is more to me than to you or to any of the rest," she +answered in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say that you love the Count?" inquired Schmidt, +surprised beyond measure by the girl's words and rendered thereby even +more tactless than usual.</p> + +<p>But Vjera said nothing, having been already led into saying more than +she had wished to say. She pulled the bell again.</p> + +<p>"I had never thought of that," remarked the Cossack in a musing tone. +"But he is mad, Vjera, the poor Count is mad. It is a pity that you +should love a madman—"</p> + +<p>"O, don't, Herr Schmidt—please don't!" cried Vjera, imploring him to be +silent as much with her eyes as with her voice.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, but really," continued the other, as though talking to himself, +"there are things that go beyond all imagination in this world. Now, who +would ever have thought of such a thing?"</p> + +<p>This time Vjera did not make any answer, nor repeat her request. But as +she tugged with all her might at the brass handle, the Cossack heard a +quick sob, and then another.</p> + +<p>"Poor Vjera!" he exclaimed kindly, and laying his hand on her shoulder. +"Poor child! I am very sorry for you, poor Vjera—I would do anything to +help you, indeed I would—if I only knew what it should be."</p> + +<p>"Then help me to wake up Fischelowitz," answered the girl in a shaken +voice. "I am sure he is at home at this time—"</p> + +<p>"I have done all I can. If he will not wake, he will not. Or if he is +awake he will not put his head out of the window, which is much the same +thing so far as we are concerned. By the bye, Vjera, you have not told +me how you came to hear of the row. It is queer that you should have +heard of it—"</p> + +<p>"Herr Homolka—you know, my landlord—had seen the Count go by with the +Gigerl and the policemen. He asked some one in the crowd and learned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +the story. But it was late when he came home, and he told us—I was +sitting up sewing with his wife—and then I ran here. But do please help +me—we can do something, I am sure."</p> + +<p>"I do not see what, short of climbing up the flat walls of the house. +But I am not a lizard, you know."</p> + +<p>"We might call. Perhaps they would hear our voices if we called +together," suggested Vjera, drawing back into the middle of the street +and looking up at the closed windows of the third story.</p> + +<p>"Herr Fischelowitz!" she cried, in a shrill, weak tone that seemed to +find no echo in the still air.</p> + +<p>"Herr Fischelowitz, Fischelowitz, Fischelowitz!" bawled the Cossack, +taking up the idea and putting it into very effective execution. His +brazen voice, harsh and high, almost made the windows rattle.</p> + +<p>"Somebody will hear that," he observed and cleared his throat for +another effort.</p> + +<p>A number of persons heard it, and at the first repetition of the yell, +two or three windows were angrily opened. A head in a white nightcap +looked out from the first story.</p> + +<p>"What do you want at this hour of the night?" asked the owner of the +nightcap, already in a rage.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I want Herr Fischelowitz, who lives in this house," answered the +Cossack, firmly.</p> + +<p>"Do you live here? Are you shut out?"</p> + +<p>"No—we only want—"</p> + +<p>"Then go to the devil!" roared the infuriated German, shutting his +window again with a vicious slam. A grunt of satisfaction from other +directions was followed by the shutting of other windows, and presently +all was silent again.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid they sleep at the back of the house," said Vjera, growing +despondent at last.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid so, too," answered Johann Schmidt, proudly conscious that +the noise he had made would have disturbed the slumbers of the Seven +Sleepers of Ephesus.</p> + + + + +<hr class="major" /> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="r9806" id="r9806"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> +</div> + +<p>"You had better let me take you home," said Schmidt, kindly, after the +total failure of the last effort.</p> + +<p>Vjera seemed to be stupefied by the sense of disappointment. She went +back to the door of the tobacconist's house and put out her hand as +though to ring the bell again then, realising how useless the attempt +would be, she let her arms fall by her sides and leaned against the +door-post, her muffled head bent forward and her whole attitude +expressing her despair.</p> + +<p>"Come, come, Vjera," said the Cossack in an encouraging tone, "it is not +so bad after all. By this time the Count is fast asleep and is dreaming +of his fortune, you know, so that it would be a cruelty to wake him up. +In the morning we will all go with Fischelowitz and have him let out, +and he will be none the worse."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid he will be—very much the worse," said Vjera. "It is +Wednesday to-morrow, and if he wakes up there—oh, I do not dare think +of it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> It will make him quite, quite mad. Can we do nothing more? +Nothing?"</p> + +<p>"I think we have done our best to wake up this quarter of the town, and +yet Fischelowitz is still asleep. No one else can be of any use to +us—therefore—" he stopped, for his conclusion seemed self-evident.</p> + +<p>"I suppose so," said Vjera, regretfully. "Let us go, then."</p> + +<p>She turned and with her noiseless step began to walk slowly away, +Schmidt keeping close by her side. For some minutes neither spoke. The +streets were deserted, dry and still.</p> + +<p>"Do you think there is any truth at the bottom of the Count's story?" +asked the Cossack at last.</p> + +<p>"I do not know," Vjera answered, shaking her head. "I do not know what +to think," she continued after a little pause. "He tells us all the same +thing, he speaks of his letters, but he never shows them to anyone. I am +afraid—" she sighed and stopped speaking.</p> + +<p>"I will tell you this much," said her companion. "That man is honest to +the backbone, honest as the good daylight on the hills, where there are +no houses to darken it and make shadows."</p> + +<p>"He is an angel of goodness and kindness," said Vjera softly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I know he is. Is he not always helping others when he is starving +himself? Now what I say is this. No man who is as good and as honest as +he is, can have become so mad about a mere piece of fancy—about an +invented lie, to be plain. What there is in his story I do not know, but +I am sure that there was truth in it once. It may have been a long time +ago, but there was a time once, when he had some reason to expect the +money and the titles he talks of every Tuesday evening."</p> + +<p>"Do you really think that?" asked Vjera, eagerly. Her own understanding +had never gone so far in its deduction.</p> + +<p>"I am sure of it. I know nothing about mad people, but I am sure that no +honest man ever invented a story out of nothing and then became crazy +because it did not turn out true."</p> + +<p>"But you, who have travelled so much, Herr Schmidt, have you ever heard +the name before—have you ever heard of such a family?"</p> + +<p>"I have a bad memory for names, but I believe I have. I cannot be sure. +It makes no difference. It is a good Russian name, in any case, and a +gentleman's name, I should think. Of course I only mean that I—that you +should not think that because I—in fact," blundered out the good man,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +"you must not suppose that you will be a real countess, you know."</p> + +<p>"I?" exclaimed Vjera, with a nervous, hysterical laugh, which the +Cossack supposed to be genuine.</p> + +<p>"That is all I wanted to say," he continued in a tone of relief, as +though he felt that he had done his duty in warning the poor girl of a +possible disappointment. "It may be true—of course, and I am sure that +it once was, or something like it, but I do not believe he has any +chance of getting his own after so long."</p> + +<p>"I cannot think of it—in either way. If it is all an old forgotten tale +which he believes in still-why then, he is mad. Is it not dreadful to +see? So quiet and sensible all the week, and then, on Tuesday night, his +farewell speech to us all—every Tuesday—and his disappointment the +next day, and then a new week begun without any recollection of it all! +It is breaking my heart, Herr Schmidt!"</p> + +<p>"Indeed, poor Vjera, you look as though it were."</p> + +<p>"And yet, and yet—I do not know. I think that if it were one day to +turn out true—then my heart would be quite broken, for he would go +away, and I should never see him again."</p> + +<p>Accustomed as she was to daily association with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> the man who was walking +by her side, knowing his good heart and feeling his sympathy, it is +small wonder that the lonely girl should have felt impelled to unburden +her soul of some of its bitterness. If her life had gone on as usual, +undisturbed by anything from without, the confessions which now fell +from her lips so easily would never have found words. But she had been +unsettled by what had happened in the early evening, and unstrung by her +great anxiety for the Count's safety. Her own words sounded in her ear +before she knew that she was going to speak them.</p> + +<p>"I am sure that something dreadful is going to happen," she continued +after a moment's pause. "He will go mad in that horrible prison, raving +mad, so that they will have to—to hold him—" she sobbed and then +recovered herself by an effort. "Or else—he will fall ill and die, +after it—" Here she broke down completely and stopping in the middle of +the street began crying bitterly, clutching at Schmidt's arm as though +to keep from falling.</p> + +<p>"I should not wonder," he said, but she fortunately did not catch the +words.</p> + +<p>He was very sorry for the poor girl, and felt inclined to take her in +his arms and carry her to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> her home, for he saw that she was weak and +exhausted as well as overcome by her anxiety. Before resorting to such a +measure, however, he thought it best to try to encourage her to walk on.</p> + +<p>"Nothing that one expects, ever happens," he said confidently, and +passing his arm through hers, as though to lead her away. "Come, you +will be at home presently and then you will go to bed and in the +morning, before you are at the shop, everything will have been set +right, and I daresay the Count will be there before you, and looking as +well as ever."</p> + +<p>"How can you say that, when you know that he never comes on Wednesdays!" +exclaimed Vjera through her tears. "I am sure something dreadful will +happen to him. No, not that way—not that way!"</p> + +<p>Schmidt was trying to guide her round a sharp corner, but she resisted +him.</p> + +<p>"But that is the way home," protested the Cossack.</p> + +<p>"I know, but I cannot go home, until I have seen where he is. I must +go—you must not prevent me!"</p> + +<p>"To the police-station?" inquired Schmidt in considerable astonishment. +"They will not let us<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> go in, you know. You cannot possibly see him. +What good can it do you to go and look at the place?"</p> + +<p>"You do not understand, Herr Schmidt! You are good and kind, but you do +not understand me. Pray, pray come with me, or let me go alone. I will +go alone, if you do not want to come. I am not at all afraid—but I must +go."</p> + +<p>"Well, child," answered Schmidt, good-humouredly. "I will go with you, +since you are so determined."</p> + +<p>"Is this the way? Are you not misleading me? Oh, I am sure I shall never +see him again—quick, let us walk quickly, Herr Schmidt! Only think what +he may be suffering at this very moment!"</p> + +<p>"I am sure he is asleep, my dear child. And when we are outside of the +police-station we cannot know what is going on inside, whether our +friend is asleep or awake, and it can do no good whatever to go. But +since you really wish it so much, we are going there as fast as we can, +and I promise to take you by the shortest way."</p> + +<p>Her step grew more firm as they went on and he felt that there was more +life in the hand that rested on his arm. The prospect of seeing the +walls of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> the place in which the Count was unwillingly spending the +night gave Vjera fresh strength and courage. The way was long, as +distances are reckoned in Munich, and more than ten minutes elapsed +before they reached the building. A sentry was pacing the pavement under +the glare of the gaslight, his shadow lengthening, shortening, +disappearing and lengthening again on the stone-way as he walked slowly +up and down. Vjera and her companion stopped on the other side of the +street. The sentinel paid no attention to them.</p> + +<p>"You are quite sure it is there?" asked the girl, under her breath. +Schmidt nodded instead of answering.</p> + +<p>"Then I will pray that all may be well this night," she said.</p> + +<p>She dropped the Cossack's arm and slipped away from him; then pausing at +a little distance, in the deep shadow of an archway opposite the +station, she knelt down upon the pavement, and taking some small object, +which was indistinguishable in the darkness, from the bosom of her frock +she clasped her hands together and looked upwards through the gloom at +the black walls of the great building. The Cossack looked at her in a +sort of half-stupid, half-awed surprise, scarcely understanding what +she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> was doing at first, and feeling his heart singularly touched when +he realised that she was praying out here in the street, kneeling on the +common pavement of the city, as though upon the marble floor of a +church, and actually saying prayers—he could hear low sounds of earnest +tone escaping from her lips—prayers for the man she loved, because he +was shut up for the night in the police-station like an ordinary +disturber of the peace. He was touched, for the action, in its +simplicity of faith, set in vibration the chords of a nature accustomed +originally to simple things, simple hopes, simple beliefs. +Instinctively, as he watched her, Johann Schmidt raised his hat from his +round head for a moment, and if he had possessed any nearer acquaintance +with praying in general or with any prayer in particular it is almost +certain that his lips would have moved. As it was, he felt sorry for +Vjera, he hoped that the Count would be none the worse for his +adventure, and he took off his hat. Let it be counted to him for +righteousness.</p> + +<p>As for poor Vjera herself, she was so much in earnest that she +altogether forgot where she was. For love, it has been found, is a great +suggester of prayer, if not of meditation, and when the beloved one is +in danger a little faith seems magnified to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> such dimensions as would +certainly accept unhesitatingly a whole mountain of dogmas. Vjera's +ideas were indeed confused, and she would have found it hard to define +the result which she so confidently expected. But if that result were to +be in any proportion to her earnestness of purpose and sincerity of +heart, it could not take a less imposing shape than a direct +intervention of Providence, at the very least; and as the poor Polish +girl rose from her knees she would hardly have been surprised to see the +green-coated sentinel thrust aside by legions of angelic beings, +hastening to restore to her the only treasure her humble life knew of, +or dreamed of, or cared for.</p> + +<p>But as the visions which her prayers had called before her faded away +into the night, she saw again the dingy walls of the hated building, the +gilt spike on the helmet of the policeman and the shining blade that +caught the light as he moved on his beat. For one moment Vjera stood +quite still. Then with a passionate gesture she stretched out both arms +before her, as though to draw out to herself, by sheer strength of +longing, the man whose life she felt to be her own—and at last, wearied +and exhausted, but no longer despairing altogether, she covered her face +with her hands and repeated again and again<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> the two words which made up +the burden of her supplication.</p> + +<p>"Save him, save him, save him!" she whispered to herself.</p> + +<p>When she looked up, at last, Schmidt was by her side. There was +something oddly respectful in his attitude and manner as he stood there +awaiting her pleasure, ready to be guided by her whithersoever she +pleased. It seemed to him that on this evening he had begun to see Vjera +in a new light, and that she was by no means the poor, insignificant +little shell-maker he had always supposed her to be. It seemed to him +that she was transformed into a woman, and into a woman of strong +affections and brave heart. And yet he knew every outline of her plain +face, and had known every change of her expression for years, since she +had first come to the shop, a mere girl not yet thirteen years of age. +Nor had it been from lack of observation that he had misunderstood her, +for like most men born and bred in the wilderness, he watched faces and +tried to read them. The change had taken place in Vjera herself and it +must be due, he thought, to her love for the poor madman. He smiled to +himself in the dark, scarcely understanding why. It was strange to him +perhaps that madness on the one side<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> should bring into life such a +world of love on the other.</p> + +<p>Vjera turned towards him and once more laid her hand upon his arm.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said. "I could not have slept if I had not come here +first, and it was very good of you. I will go home, but do not come with +me—you must be tired."</p> + +<p>"I am never tired," he answered, and they began to walk away in the +direction whence they had come.</p> + +<p>For a long time neither spoke. At last Schmidt broke the silence.</p> + +<p>"Vjera," he said, "I have been thinking about it all and I do not +understand it. What kind of love is it that makes you act as you do?"</p> + +<p>Vjera stood still, for they were close to her door, and there was a +street lamp at hand so that she could see his face. She saw that he +asked the question earnestly.</p> + +<p>"It is something that I cannot explain—it is something holy," she +answered.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the forlorn little shell-maker had found the definition of true +love.</p> + +<p>She let herself in with her key and Schmidt once more found himself +alone in the street. If he had followed his natural instinct he would +have loitered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> about in one of the public squares until morning, making +up for the loss of his night's rest by sleeping in the daytime. But he +had taken upon himself the responsibilities of marriage as they are +regarded west of the Dnieper, and his union had been blessed by the +subsequent appearance of a number of olive-branches. It was therefore +necessary that he should sleep at night in order to work by day, and he +reluctantly turned his footsteps towards home. As he walked, he thought +of all that had happened since five o'clock in the afternoon, and of all +that he had learned in the course of the night. Vjera's story interested +him and touched him, and her acts seemed to remind him of something +which he nevertheless could not quite remember. Far down in his +toughened nature the strings of a forgotten poetry vibrated softly as +though they would make music if they dared. Far back in the chain of +memories, the memory once best loved was almost awake once more, the +link of once clasped hands was almost alive again, the tender pressure +of fingers now perhaps long dead was again almost a reality able to +thrill body and soul. And with all that, and with the certainty that +those things were gone for ever, arose the great longing for one more +breath of liberty, for one more ride over the boundless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> steppe, for one +more draught of the sour kvass, of the camp brew of rye and malt.</p> + +<p>The longing for such things, for one thing almost unattainable, is in +man and beast at certain times. In the distant northern plains, a +hundred miles from the sea, in the midst of the Laplander's village, a +young reindeer raises his broad muzzle to the north wind, and stares at +the limitless distance while a man may count a hundred. He grows +restless from that moment, but he is yet alone. The next day, a dozen of +the herd look up, from the cropping of the moss, snuffing the breeze. +Then the Laps nod to one another, and the camp grows daily more unquiet. +At times, the whole herd of young deer stand at gaze, as it were, +breathing hard through wide nostrils, then jostling each other and +stamping the soft ground. They grow unruly and it is hard to harness +them in the light sledge. As the days pass, the Laps watch them more and +more closely, well knowing what will happen sooner or later. And then at +last, in the northern twilight, the great herd begins to move. The +impulse is simultaneous, irresistible, their heads are all turned in one +direction. They move slowly at first, biting still, here and there, at +the bunches of rich moss. Presently the slow step becomes a trot, they +crowd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> closely together while the Laps hasten to gather up their last +unpacked possessions, their cooking utensils and their wooden gods. The +great herd break together from a trot to a gallop, from a gallop to a +break-neck race, the distant thunder of their united tread reaches the +camp during a few minutes, and they are gone to drink of the polar sea. +The Laps follow after them, dragging painfully their laden sledges in +the broad track left by the thousands of galloping beasts—a day's +journey, and they are yet far from the sea, and the trail is yet broad. +On the second day it grows narrower, and there are stains of blood to be +seen; far on the distant plain before them their sharp eyes distinguish +in the direct line a dark, motionless object, another and then another. +The race has grown more desperate and more wild as the stampede neared +the sea. The weaker reindeer have been thrown down, and trampled to +death by their stronger fellows. A thousand sharp hoofs have crushed and +cut through hide and flesh and bone. Ever swifter and more terrible in +their motion, the ruthless herd has raced onward, careless of the slain, +careless of food, careless of any drink but the sharp salt water ahead +of them. And when at last the Laplanders reach the shore their deer are +once more quietly grazing, once more tame<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> and docile, once more ready +to drag the sledge whithersoever they are guided. Once in his life the +reindeer must taste of the sea in one long, satisfying draught, and if +he is hindered he perishes. Neither man nor beast dare stand between him +and the ocean in the hundred miles of his arrow-like path.</p> + +<p>Something of this longing came upon the Cossack, as he suddenly +remembered the sour taste of the kvass, to the recollection of which he +had been somehow led by a train of thought which had begun with Vjera's +love for the Count, to end abruptly in a camp kettle. For the heart of +man is much the same everywhere, and there is nothing to show that the +step from the sublime to the ridiculous is any longer in the Don country +than in any other part of the world. But between poor Johann Schmidt and +his draught of kvass there lay obstacles not encountered by the reindeer +in his race for the Arctic Ocean. There was the wife, and there were the +children, and there was the vast distance, so vast that it might have +discouraged even the fleet-footed scourer of the northern snows. Johann +Schmidt might long for his kvass, and draw in his thin, wan lips at the +thought of the taste of it, and bend his black brows and close his sharp +eyes as in a dream—it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> was all of no use, there was no change in store +for him. He had cast his lot in the land of beer and sausages, and he +must work out his salvation and the support of his family without a +ladleful of the old familiar brew to satisfy his unreasonable caprices.</p> + +<p>So, last of all those concerned in the events of the evening, Johann +Schmidt went home to bed and to rest. That power, at least, had remained +with him. Whenever he lay down he could close his eyes and be asleep, +and forget the troubles and the mean trifles of his thorny existence. In +this respect he had the advantage of the others.</p> + +<p>Vjera lay down, indeed, but the attempt to sleep seemed more painful +than the accepted reality of waking. The night was the most terrible in +her remembrance, filled as it was with anxiety for the fate of the man +she so dearly loved. To her still childlike inexperience of the world, +the circumstances seemed as full of fear and danger as though the poor +Count had been put upon his trial for a murder or a robbery on an +enormous scale, instead of being merely detained because he could not +give a satisfactory account of a puppet which had been found in his +possession. In the poor girl's imagination arose visions of judges, +awful personages in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> funereal robes and huge Hack caps, with cruel lips +and hard, steely eyes, sitting in solemn state in a gloomy hall and +dispensing death, disgrace, or long terms of prison, at the very least, +to all comers. For her, the police-station was a dungeon, and she +fancied the Count chained to a dank and slimy wall in a painful +position, chilled to the marrow by the touch of the dripping stone, his +teeth chattering, his face distorted with suffering. Of course he was in +a solitary cell, behind a heavy door, braced with clamps and bolts and +locks and studded with great dark iron nails. Without, the grim +policemen were doubtless pacing up and down with drawn swords, listening +with a murderous delight to the groans of their victim as he writhed in +his chains. In the eyes of the poor and the young, the law is a very +terrible thing, taking no account of persons, and very little of the +relative magnitude of men's misdeeds. The province of justice, as Vjera +conceived it, was to crush in its iron claws all who had the misfortune +to come within its reach. Vjera had never heard of Judge Jeffreys nor of +the Bloody Assizes, but the methods of procedure adopted by that eminent +destroyer of his kind would have seemed mild and humane compared with +what she supposed that all men, innocent or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> guilty, had to expect after +they had once fallen into the hands of the policeman. She was not a +German girl, taught in the common school to understand something of the +methods by which society governs itself. Her early childhood had been +spent in a Polish village, far within the Russian frontier, and though +the law in Russian Poland is not exactly the irresponsible and +blood-thirsty monster depicted by young gentlemen and old maids who +traverse the country in search of horrors, yet it must be admitted by +the least prejudiced that it sometimes moves in a mysterious way, +calculated to rouse some apprehension in the minds of those who are +governed by it. And Vjera had brought with her her childish impressions, +and applied them in the present case as descriptive of the Munich +police-station. The whole subject was to her so full of horror that she +had not dared to ask Schmidt for the details of the Count's situation. +To her, a revolutionary caught in the act of undermining the Tsar's +bedroom, could not be in a worse case. She would not have believed +Schmidt, had he told her that the Count was sitting in an attitude of +calm thought upon the edge of a broad wooden bench, his hands quite free +from chains and gyves, and occupied in rolling cigarettes at regular +intervals of half an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> hour—and this, in a clean and well-ventilated +room, lighted by a ground glass lantern. She would have supposed that +Schmidt was inventing a description of such comfort and comparative +luxury in order to calm her fears, and she would have been ten times +more afraid than before.</p> + +<p>It is small wonder that she could not sleep. The Count's arrest alone +would have sufficed to keep her in an agony of wakefulness, and there +were other matters, besides that, which tormented the poor girl's brain. +She had been long accustomed to his singular madness and to hearing from +him the assurance of his returning to wealth. At first, with perfect +simplicity, she had believed every word of the story he told with such +evident certainty of its truth, and she had reproached her older +companions, as far as she dared, for their incredulity. But at last she +had herself been convinced of his madness as through the weeks, and +months, and years, the state of expectation returned on Tuesday +evenings, to be followed by the disappointments of Wednesday and by the +oblivion which ensued on Thursday morning. Vjera, like the rest, had +come to regard the regularly recurring delusion as being wholly +groundless, and not to be taken into account, except inasmuch as it +deprived them of the Count's company<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> on Wednesdays, for on that day he +stayed at home, in his garret room, waiting for the high personages who +were to restore to him his wealth. Sometimes, indeed, when he chanced to +be very sure that they would not come for him until evening, he would +stroll through the town for an hour, looking into the shop windows and +making up his mind what he should buy; and sometimes, on such occasions, +he would visit the scene of his late labours, as he called the +tobacconist's shop on that day of the week, and would exchange a few +friendly words with his former companions. On Thursday morning he +invariably returned to his place without remark and resumed his work, +not seeming to understand any observations made about his absence or +strange conduct on the previous day.</p> + +<p>So far the story he had told Vjera had always been the same. Now, +however, he had introduced a new incident in the tale, which filled poor +Vjera with dismay. He had never before spoken of his father and brother, +except as the causes of his disasters, explaining that the powerful +influence of his own friends, aided by the machinery of justice, had at +last obliged them to concede him a proportional part of the fortune. +Fischelowitz was accustomed to laugh at this statement, saying that if +the Count<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> were only a younger son, the law would do nothing for him and +that he must continue to earn his livelihood as he could. In the course +of a long time Vjera had come to the conclusion, by comparing this +remark with the Count's statement when in his abnormal condition, that +he was indeed the son of a great noble who had turned him out of doors +for some fancied misdeed, and from whom he had in reality nothing to +expect. Such was the girl's present belief.</p> + +<p>Now, however, he had suddenly declared that his father and his brother +were dead. With a woman's keenness she took alarm at this new +development. She really loved the poor man with all her heart. If this +new addition to his story were a mere invention, it was a sign that his +madness was growing upon him, and she had heard her companions discuss +their comrade often enough to know that, in their opinion, if he began +to grow worse, he would very soon be in the madhouse. It was bad enough +to go through what she suffered so often, to see the inward struggle +expressed on his face, whenever he chanced to be alone with her on a +Tuesday afternoon, to hear from his lips the same assurance of love, the +same offer of marriage, and to know that all would be forgotten and that +his manner to her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> would change again, by Thursday, to that of a +uniform, considerate kindness. It was bad enough, for the girl loved him +and was sensitive. But it would be worse—how much worse, she dared not +think—to see him go mad before her very eyes, to see him taken away at +last from the midst of them all to the huge brick house in the outskirts +of the city beyond the Isar.</p> + +<p>One more hypothesis remained. This time the story might turn out true. +She believed in his birth and in his misfortunes, and in the existence +of his father and his brother. They might indeed be dead, as he had told +her, and he would then, perhaps, be sole master in their stead—she did +not know how that would be, in Russia. But then, if it were all true, he +must go away—and her life would be over, with its loving hope and its +hopeless love.</p> + +<p>It is small wonder that Vjera did not sleep that night.</p> + + + + +<hr class="major" /> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="r4233" id="r4233"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> +</div> + +<p>Once or twice in the course of the night, the Count changed his +position, got up, stretched himself and paced the length of the room. +Dumnoff lay like a log upon his pallet, his head thrown back, his mouth +open, snoring with the strong bass vibration of a thirty-two-foot organ +pipe. The Count looked at him occasionally, but did not envy him his +power of sleep. His own reflections were in a measure more agreeable +than any dream could have been, certainly more so in his judgment than +the visions of unlimited cabbage soup, vodka, and fighting which were +doubtless delighting Dumnoff's slumbering soul.</p> + +<p>As the church clocks struck one hour after another, his spirits rose. He +had, indeed, never had the least apprehension concerning his own +liberty, since he knew himself to be perfectly innocent. He only desired +to be released as soon as possible in order to repair the damage done to +his coat and collar before the earliest hour at which the messengers of +good news could be expected at his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> house. Meanwhile he cared little +whether he spent the night on a bench in the police-station, or on one +of the rickety wooden chairs which afforded the only sitting +accommodation in his own room. He could not sleep in either case, for +his brain was too wide awake with the anticipations of the morrow, and +with the endless plans for future happiness which suggested themselves.</p> + +<p>At last he was aware that the nature of the light in the room was +changing and that the white ground glass of the lantern was illuminated +otherwise than by the little flame within. The high window, as he looked +up, was like a grey figure cut out of dark paper, and the dawn was +stealing in at last.</p> + +<p>"Wednesday at last!" he exclaimed softly to himself. "Wednesday at +last!" A gentle smile spread over his tired face, and made it seem less +haggard and drawn than it really was.</p> + +<p>The day broke, and somewhere not far from the window, the birds all +began to sing at once, filling the room with a continuous strain of +sound, loud, clear and jubilant. The soft spring air seemed to awake, as +though it had itself been sleeping through the still night and must busy +itself now in sending the sweet breezes upon their errands to the +flowers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I always thought it would come in spring," thought the Count, as he +listened to the pleasant sounds, and then held one of his yellow hands +up to the window to feel the freshness that was without.</p> + +<p>He wondered how long it would be before Fischelowitz would come and tell +the truth of the Gigerl's story. By his knowledge of the time of +daybreak, he guessed that it was not yet much past four o'clock, and he +doubted whether Fischelowitz would come before eight. The tobacconist +was a kind man, but a comfortable one, loving his rest and his breakfast +and his ease at all times. Moreover, as the Count knew better than any +one else, Akulina would be rejoiced to hear of the misadventure which +had befallen her enemy and would in no way hurry her husband upon his +mission of justice. She would doubtless consume an unusual amount of +time in the preparation of his coffee, she would presumably tell him +that the milkman had not appeared punctually, and would probably assert +that there were as yet no rolls to be had. The immediate consequence of +these spiteful fictions would be that Fischelowitz would dress himself +very leisurely, swallowing the smoke of several cigarettes in the +meanwhile, and that he would hardly be clothed, fed and out of the house +before eight in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> the morning, instead of being on the way to the shop at +seven as was his usual practice.</p> + +<p>But the Count was not at all disturbed by this. The persons whose coming +he expected were not of the class who pay visits at eight o'clock. It +was as pleasant to sit still and think of the glorious things in the +future, as to do anything else, until the great moment came. Here, at +least, he was undisturbed by the voices of men, unless Dumnoff's +portentous snore could be called a voice, and to this his ear had grown +accustomed.</p> + +<p>He sat down again, therefore, in his old position, crossed one knee over +the other and again produced the piece of crumpled newspaper which held +his tobacco. The supply was low, but he consoled himself with the belief +that Dumnoff probably had some about him, and rolled what remained of +his own for immediate consumption.</p> + +<p>He was quite right in his surmises concerning his late employer and the +latter's wife. Akulina had in the first place let her husband sleep as +long as he pleased, and had allowed a considerable time to elapse before +informing him of the events of the previous evening. As was to be +expected, the good man stated his intention of immediately procuring the +Count's liberation, and was only prevailed upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> with difficulty to +taste his breakfast. One taste, however, convinced him of the necessity +of consuming all that was set before him, and while he was thus actively +employed Akulina entered into the consideration of the theft, recalling +all the details she could remember about the intimacy supposed to exist +between the Count and the swindler in coloured glasses, and +conscientiously showing the matter in all its aspects.</p> + +<p>"One fact remains," she said, in conclusion, "he promised you upon his +honour last night that he would pay you the fifty marks to-day, and, in +my opinion, since he has been the means of your losing the Gigerl after +all, he ought to be made to pay the money."</p> + +<p>"And where can he get fifty marks to pay me?" inquired Fischelowitz with +careless good-humour.</p> + +<p>"Where he got the doll, I suppose," said Akulina, triumphantly +completing the vicious circle in which she caused her logic to move.</p> + +<p>Fischelowitz smiled as he pushed away his cup, rose and lighted a fresh +cigarette.</p> + +<p>"You are a very good housekeeper, Akulina, my love," he observed. "You +always know how the money goes."</p> + +<p>"That is more than can be said for some people,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> laughed Akulina. "But +never mind, Christian Gregorovitch, your wife is only a weak woman, but +she can take care for two, never fear!"</p> + +<p>Fischelowitz was of the same opinion as he, at last, took his hat and +left the house. To him, the whole affair had a pleasant savour of humour +about it, and he was by no means so much disturbed as Johann Schmidt or +Vjera. He had lived in Munich many years and understood very well the +way in which things are managed in the good-natured Bavarian capital. A +night in the police-station in the month of May seemed by no means such +a terrible affair, certainly not a matter involving any great suffering +to any one concerned. Moreover it could not be helped, a consideration +which, when available, was a great favourite with the rotund +tobacconist. Whatever the Count had done on the previous night, he said +to himself, was done past undoing; and though, if he had found Akulina +awake when he returned from spending the evening with his friend, and if +she had then told him what had happened, he would certainly have made +haste to get the Count released—yet, since Akulina had been sound +asleep, he had necessarily gone to bed in ignorance of the story, to the +temporary inconvenience of the arrested pair.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> + +<p>He was not long in procuring an order for the Count's release, but +Dumnoff's case seemed to be considered as by far the graver of the two, +since he had actually been guilty of grasping the sacred, green legs of +two policemen, at the time in the execution of their duty, and of +violently turning the aforesaid policemen upside down in the public room +of an eating-house. It was, indeed, reckoned as favourable to him that +he had returned and submitted to being handcuffed without offering +further resistance, but it might have gone hard with him if Fischelowitz +had not procured the co-operation of a Munich householder and taxpayer +to bail him out until the inquiry should be made. It would have been a +serious matter for Fischelowitz to lose the work of Dumnoff in his +"celebrated manufactory" for any length of time together, since it was +all he could do to meet the increasing demands for his wares with his +present staff of workers.</p> + +<p>"And how did you spend the night, Count?" he inquired as they walked +quickly down the street together. Dumnoff had made off in the opposite +direction, in search of breakfast, after which he intended to go +directly to the shop, as though nothing had happened.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I spent it very pleasantly, thank you," answered the Count. "The fact +is that, with such an interesting day before me, I should not have slept +if I had been at home. I have so much to think of, as you may imagine, +and so many preparations to make, that the time cannot seem long with +me."</p> + +<p>"I am glad of that," said Fischelowitz, serenely. "I suppose we shall +not see you to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Hardly—hardly," replied the Count, as though considering whether his +engagements would allow him to look in at the shop. "You will certainly +see me this evening, at the latest," he added, as if he had suddenly +recollected something. "I have not forgotten that I am to hand you fifty +marks—I only regret that you should have lost the Gigerl, which, I +think I have heard you say, afforded you some amusement. However, the +money shall be in your hands without delay, or with as little delay as +possible. My friends will in all probability arrive by the mid-day train +and will, of course, come to me at once. An hour or so to talk over our +affairs, and I shall then have leisure to come to you for a few moments +and to settle that unfortunate affair. Not indeed, my dear Herr +Fischelowitz, that I have ever held myself responsible for the dishonest +young man who wore green spectacles. I was, indeed, a loser<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> by him +myself, in an insignificant sum, and as he turned out to be such an +indifferent character, I do not mind acknowledging the fact. I do not +think it can harm him, if I do. No. I was not responsible for him to +you, but since your excellent wife, Frau Fischelowitz, labours under the +impression that I was, I am quite willing to accept the responsibility, +and shall therefore discharge the debt before night, as a matter of +honour."</p> + +<p>"It is very kind of you," remarked the tobacconist, smiling at the +impressive manner in which the promise was made. "But of course, Count, +if anything should prevent the arrival of your friends, you will not +consider this to be an engagement."</p> + +<p>"Nothing will prevent the coming of those I expect, nor, if anything +could, would such an accident prevent my fulfilling an engagement which, +since your excellent wife's remarks last night, I do consider binding +upon my honour. And now, Herr Fischelowitz, with my best thanks for your +intervention this morning, I will leave you. After the vicissitudes to +which I have been exposed during the last twelve hours, my appearance is +not what I could wish it to be. I have the pleasure to wish you a very +good morning."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> + +<p>Shaking his companion heartily by the hand, the Count bowed civilly and +turned into an unfrequented street. Fischelowitz looked after him a few +seconds, as though expecting that he would turn back and say something +more, and then walked briskly in the direction of his shop.</p> + +<p>He found Akulina standing at the door which led into the workroom, in +such a position as to be able to serve a customer should any chance to +enter, and yet so placed as to see the greater part of her audience. For +she was holding forth volubly in her thick, strong voice, giving her +very decided opinion about the events of the previous evening, the +Count, considered in the first place as a specimen of the human race, +and secondly, as in relation to his acts. Her hearers were poor Vjera, +her insignificant companion and the Cossack who listened, so to say, +without enthusiasm, unless the occasional foolish giggle of the younger +girl was to be taken for the expression of applause.</p> + +<p>"I am thoroughly sick of his crazy ways," she was saying, "and if he +were not really such a good workman we should have turned him out long +ago. But he really does make cigarettes very well, and with the new shop +about to be opened, and the demand there is already, it is all we can do +to keep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> people satisfied. Not but what my husband has been talking +lately of getting a new workman from Vilna, and if he turns out to be +all that we expect, why the Count may go about his business and we shall +be left in peace at last. Indeed it is high time. My poor nerves will +not stand many more such scenes as last night, and as for my poor +husband, I believe he has lost as much money through the Count and his +friends as he has paid to him for work, and if you turn that into +figures it makes the cigarettes he rolls worth six marks a thousand +instead of three, which is more than any pocket can stand, while there +are children to be fed at home. And if you have anything to say to that, +little husband, why just say it!"</p> + +<p>Fischelowitz had entered the shop and the last words were addressed to +him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing, nothing," he answered, beginning to bustle cheerily about +the place, setting a box straight here, removing an empty one there, +opening the till and counting the small change, and, generally, doing +all those things which he was accustomed to do when he appeared in the +morning.</p> + +<p>Poor Vjera looked paler and more waxen than ever in her life before, so +pale indeed was she that the total absence of colour lent a sort of +refinement<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> to her plain features, not often found even in really +beautiful faces. She had suffered intensely and was suffering still. +From the first words that Akulina had spoken she had understood that the +Count had been in the station-house all night, and she found herself +reviewing all the hideous visions of his cruel treatment which she had +conjured up since the previous evening. Akulina of course hastened to +say that Fischelowitz had lost no time in having the poor man set at +liberty, and this at least was a relief to Vjera's great anxiety. But +she wanted to hear far more than Akulina could or would tell, she longed +to know whether he had really suffered as she fancied he had, and how he +looked after spending in a prison the night that had seemed so long to +her. She would have given anything to overwhelm the tobacconist with +questions, to ask for a minute description of the Count's appearance, to +express her past terrors to some one and to have some one tell her that +they had been groundless.</p> + +<p>But she dared not open her lips to speak of the matters which filled her +thoughts. She was so wretchedly nervous that she felt as though the +tears would break out at the sound of her own voice, and at the same +time she was disturbed by the consciousness<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> that Johann Schmidt's eyes +watched her closely from the corner in which he was steadily wielding +his swivel knife. It had been almost natural to tell him of her love in +the darkness of the streets, in the mad anxiety for the loved one's +safety, in the weariness and the hopelessness of the night hours. But +now, sitting at her little table, at her daily work, with all the +trivial objects that belonged to it recalling her to the reality of +things, she realised that her day-dreams were no longer her secret, and +she was ashamed that any one should guess the current of her thoughts. +It was hard for her to understand how she could have thus taken the +Cossack into her confidence, and she would have made almost any +sacrifice to take back the confession. Good he was, and honest, and +kind-hearted, but she was ashamed of what she had done. It seemed to her +that, besides giving up to another the knowledge of her heart, she had +also done something against the dignity of him she loved. She herself +felt no superiority over Johann Schmidt; they were equals in every way. +But she did feel, and strongly, that the Cossack was not the equal of +the Count, and she reproached herself with having made a confidant of +one beneath her idol in station and refinement. This feeling sprang from +such a multiplicity of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> sources, as almost to defy explanation. There +was, at the bottom of it, the strange, unreasoning notion of the +superiority of one class over another by right of blood, from which no +race seems to be wholly exempt, and which has produced such surprising +results in the world. Poor Vjera had been brought up in one of those +countries where that tradition is still strongest. The mere sound of the +word "Count" evoked a body of impressions so firmly rooted, so deeply +ingrained, as necessarily to influence her judgment. The outward manner +of the man did the rest, his dignity under all circumstances, his +uncomplaining patience, his unquestioning generosity, his quiet courtesy +to every one. There was something in every word he spoke, in his every +action, which distinguished him from his companions. They themselves +felt it. He was sometimes ridiculous, poor man, and they laughed +together over his carefully chosen language, over the grand sweep of his +bow and his punctilious attention to the smallest promise or shadow of a +promise. These things amused them, but at the same time they felt that +he could never be what they were, and that those manners and speeches of +his, which, if they had imitated them, would have seemed in themselves +so many forms of vulgarity,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> were somehow not vulgar in him. Vjera, as +she loved him, felt all this far more keenly than the others. And +besides, to add to her embarrassment at present, there was the girl's +maidenly shyness and timidity. Since she had told Johann Schmidt her +secret, she felt as though all eyes were upon her, and as though every +one were about to turn upon her with those jesting questions which +coarse natures regard as expressions of sympathy where love is +concerned. And yet no one spoke to her, nor disturbed her. There was +only the disquieting consciousness of the Cossack's curious scrutiny to +remind her that all things were not as they had been yesterday.</p> + +<p>The hours of the morning seemed endless. On all other days, Vjera was +accustomed to see the Count's quiet face opposite to her, and when she +was most weary of her monotonous toil, a glance at him gave her fresh +courage, and turned the currents of her thoughts into a channel not +always smooth indeed, but long familiar and never wearisome to follow. +The stream emptied, it is true, into the dead sea of doubt, and each +time, as she ended the journey of her fancy, she felt the cruel chill of +the conclusion, as though she had in reality fallen into a deep, dark +water; but she was always able<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> to renew the voyage, to return to the +fountain-head of love, enjoying at least the pleasant, smooth reaches of +the river, that lay between the racing rapids and the tumbling falls.</p> + +<p>But to-day there was no one at the little table opposite, and Vjera's +reflections would not be guided in their familiar course. Her heart +yearned for the lonely man who, on that day, sat in the solitude of his +poor chamber confidently expecting the messengers of good tidings who +never came. She wondered what expression was on his face, as he watched +the door and listened for the fall of feet upon the stairs. She knew, +for she knew his nature, that he had carefully dressed himself in what +he had that was best, in order to receive decently the long-expected +visit; she fancied that he would move thoughtfully about the narrow +room, trying to give it a feebly festive look in accordance with his own +inward happiness. He would forget to eat, as he sat there, hearing the +hours chime one after another, seeing the sun rise higher and higher +until noon and watching the lengthening shadows of the chimneys on the +roofs as day declined. More than all, she wondered what that dreadful +moment could be like when, each week, he gave up hope at last, and saw +that it had all been a dream. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> had seen him more than once, towards +the evening of the regularly recurring day, still confidently expecting +the coming of his friends, explaining that they must come by the last +train, and hastening away in order to be ready to receive them. +Somewhere between the Wednesday evening and the Thursday morning there +must be an hour, of which she hardly dared to think, in which all was +made clear to him, or in which a veil descended over all, shutting out +in merciful obscurity the brilliant vision and the bitter +disappointment. If she could only be with him at that moment, she +thought, she might comfort him, she might make his sufferings more easy +to bear, and at the idea the tears that were so near rose nearer still +to the flowing, kept back only by shame of being seen.</p> + +<p>It was a terrible day, and everything jarred upon the poor girl's +nature, from Akulina's thick, strong voice, continually discussing the +question of marks and pennies, with occasional allusions to late events, +to the disagreeable, scratching, paring sound of the Cossack's heavy +knife as it cut its way through the great packages of leaves. The +mid-day hour afforded no relief, for the pressure of work was great and +each of the workers had brought a little food to be eaten in haste and +almost without a change of position.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> For the work was paid for in +proportion to its quantity, and the poor people were glad enough when +there was so much to do, since there was then just so much more to be +earned. There were times when the demand was slack and when Fischelowitz +would not keep his people at their tables for more than two or three +hours in a day. They might occupy the rest of their time as they could, +and earn something in other ways, if they were able. When those hard +times came poor Vjera picked up a little sewing, paid for at starvation +rates, Johann Schmidt turned his hand to the repairing of furs, in which +he had some skill, and which is an art in itself, and Dumnoff varied his +existence by exercising great economy in the matter of food without +making a similar reduction in the allowance of his drink. Under ordinary +circumstances Vjera would have rejoiced at the quantity of work to be +done, and as it was, her mental suffering did not make her fingers +awkward or less nervously eager in the perpetual rolling of the little +pieces of paper round the glass tube. Even acute physical pain is often +powerless to affect the mechanical skill of a hand trained for many +years to repeat the same little operation thousands of times in a day +with unvarying perfection. Vjera worked as well and as quickly as ever,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +though the hours seemed so endlessly long as to make her wonder why she +did not turn out more work than usual. From time to time the two men +exchanged more or less personal observations after their manner.</p> + +<p>"It seems to me that you work better than usual," remarked the Cossack, +looking at Dumnoff.</p> + +<p>"I feel better," laughed the latter. "I feel as though I had been having +a holiday and a country dance."</p> + +<p>"For the sake of your health, you ought to have a little excitement now +and then," continued Schmidt. "It is hard for a man of your constitution +to be shut up day after day as you are here. A little bear-fight now and +then would do you almost as much good as an extra bottle of brandy, +besides being cheaper."</p> + +<p>"Yes." Dumnoff yawned, displaying all his ferocious white teeth to the +assembled company. "That is true—and then, those green cloth policemen +look so funny when one upsets them. I wish I had a few here."</p> + +<p>"You have not heard the last of your merry-making yet," said +Fischelowitz, who was standing in the doorway. "If I had not got you out +this morning you would still be in the police-station."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There is something in that," observed Schmidt. "If he were not out, he +would still be in."</p> + +<p>"Well, if I were, I should still be asleep," said Dumnoff. "That would +not be so bad, after all."</p> + +<p>"You may be there again before long," suggested Fischelowitz. "You know +there is to be an inquiry. I only hope you will do plenty of work before +they lock you up for a fortnight."</p> + +<p>"I suppose they will let me work in prison," answered Dumnoff, +indifferently. "They do in some places."</p> + +<p>Vjera, whose ideas of prisons have been already explained at length, was +so much surprised that she at last opened her lips.</p> + +<p>"Have you ever been in prison?" she asked in a wondering tone.</p> + +<p>"Several times," replied the other, without looking up. "But always," he +added, as though suddenly anxious for his reputation, "always for that +sort of thing—for upsetting somebody who did not want to be upset. It +is a curious thing—I always do it in the same way, and they always +tumble down. One would think people would learn—" he paused as though +considering a profound problem.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they are not always the same people," remarked the Cossack.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That is true. That may have something to do with it." The ex-coachman +relapsed into silence.</p> + +<p>"But, is it not very dreadful—in prison?" asked Vjera rather timidly, +after a short pause.</p> + +<p>"No—if one can sleep well, the time passes very pleasantly. Of course, +one is not always as comfortable as we were last night. That is not to +be expected."</p> + +<p>"Comfortable!" exclaimed the girl in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Well—we had a nice room with a good light, and there happened to be +nobody else in for the night. It was dry and clean and well +furnished—rather hard beds, I believe, though I scarcely noticed them. +We smoked and talked some time and then I went to sleep. Oh, yes—I +passed a very pleasant evening, and a comfortable night."</p> + +<p>"But I thought—" Vjera hesitated, as though fearing that she was going +to say something foolish. "I thought that prisoners always had chains," +she said, at last.</p> + +<p>Everybody laughed loudly at this remark and the poor girl felt very much +ashamed of herself, though the question had seemed so natural and had +been in her mind a long time. It was an immense relief, however, to know +that things had not been so bad as she had imagined, and Dumnoff's +description of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> the place of his confinement was certainly reassuring.</p> + +<p>As the endless day wore on, she began to glance anxiously towards the +door, straining her ears for a familiar footstep in the outer shop. As +has been said, the Count sometimes looked in on Wednesdays, when his +calculations had convinced him that his friends, not having arrived by +one train, could not be expected for several hours. But to-day he did +not come, to-day when Vjera would have given heaven and earth for a +sight of him. Never, in her short life, had she realised how slowly the +hours could limp along from sunrise to noon, from noon to sunset, never +had the little spot of sunlight which appeared in the back-shop on fine +afternoons taken so long to crawl its diagonal course from the left +front-leg of Dumnoff's table, where it made its appearance, to the +right-hand corner of her own, at which point it suddenly went out and +was seen no more, being probably intercepted by some fixed object +outside.</p> + +<p>Time is the measure of most unhapppiness, for it is in sorrow and +anxiety that we are most keenly conscious of it, and are oppressed by +its leaden weight. When we are absorbed in work, in study, in the +production of anything upon which all our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> faculties are concentrated, +we say that the time passes quickly. When we are happy we know nothing +of time nor of its movement, only, long afterwards, we look back, and we +say, "How short the hours seemed then!"</p> + +<p>Vjera toiled on and on, watching the creeping sunshine on the floor, +glancing at the ever-increasing heap of cut leaves that fell from the +Cossack's cutting-block, noting the slow rise in the pile of paper +shells before her and comparing it with that produced by the girl at her +elbow, longing for the moment when she would see the freshly-made +cigarettes just below the inner edge of Dumnoff's basket, taking account +of every little thing by which to persuade herself that the day was +declining and the evening at hand.</p> + +<p>Her life was sad and monotonous enough at the best of times. It seemed +as though the accidents of the night had made it by contrast ten times +more sad and monotonous and hopeless than before.</p> + + + + +<hr class="major" /> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="r6930" id="r6930"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> +</div> + +<p>The Count, as Vjera supposed, had dressed himself with even greater care +than usual in anticipation of the official visit, and while she was +working through the never-ending hours of her weary day, he was calmly +seated upon a chair by the open window in his little room, one leg +crossed over the other, one hand thrust into the bosom of his coat and +the other extended idly upon the table by his side. His features +expressed the perfect calm and satisfaction of a man who knows that +something very pleasant is about to happen, who has prepared himself for +it, and who sits in the midst of his swept and garnished dwelling in an +attitude of pleased expectancy.</p> + +<p>The Count's face was tired, indeed, and there were dark circles under +his sunken grey eyes, brought there by loss of sleep as much as by an +habitual facility for forgetting to eat and drink. But in the eyes +themselves there was a bright, unusual light, as though some brilliant +spectacle were reflected in them out of the immediate future.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> There was +colour, too, in his lean cheeks, a slight flush like that which comes +into certain dark faces with the anticipation of any keen pleasure. As +he sat in his chair, he looked constantly at the door of the room, as +though expecting it to open at any moment. From time to time, voices and +footsteps were heard on the stairs, far below. When any of these sounds +reached him, the Count rose gravely from his seat, and stood in the +middle of the room, slowly rubbing his hands together, listening again, +moving a step to the one side or the other and back again, in the +mechanical manner of a person to whom a visitor has been announced and +who expects to see him appear almost immediately. But the footsteps +echoed and died away and the voices were still again. The Count stood +still a few moments when this happened, satisfying himself that he had +been mistaken, and then, shaking his head and once more passing his +hands round each other, he resumed his seat and his former attitude. He +listened also for the chiming of the hours, and when he was sure that an +hour had passed since the arrival of his imaginary express train, he +rose again, looked out of the window, watched the wheeling of the house +swallows, and assumed an air of momentary indifference. The next +ringing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> of the clock bells revived the illusion. Another train was +doubtless just running in to the station, and in a quarter of an hour +his friends might be with him. There was no time to be lost. The flush +returned to his cheeks as he hastily combed his smooth hair for the +twentieth time, examining his appearance minutely in the dingy, spotted +mirror, brushing his clothes—far too well brushed these many years—and +lastly making sure that there was no weak point in the adjustment of his +false collar. He made another turn of inspection round his little room, +feeling sure that there was just time to see that all was right and in +order, but already beginning to listen for a noise of approaching people +on the stairs. Once more he straightened and arranged the patched +coverlet of Turkey red cotton upon the bed, so that it should hide the +pillows and the sheets; once more he adjusted the clean towel neatly +upon the wooden peg over the washing-stand, discreetly concealing the +one he had used in the drawer of the table; for the last time he made +sure that the chair which had the broken leg was in such close and +perfect contact with the wall as to make it safely serviceable if not +rashly removed into a wider sphere of action. Then, as he passed the +chest of drawers, he gave a final touch to the half-dozen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> ragged-edged +books which composed his library—three volumes of Puschkin, of three +different editions, Ivan Kryloff's <i>Poems and Fables</i>, Gogol's <i>Terrible +Revenge</i>, Tolstoi's <i>How People Live</i>, and two or three more, including +Koltsoff, the shepherd poet, and an ancient guide to the city of +Kiew—as heterogeneous a collection of works as could be imagined, yet +all notable in their way, except, indeed, the guide-book, for beauty, +power, or touching truth.</p> + +<p>And when he had touched and straightened everything in the room, he +returned to his seat, calmly expectant as ever, to wait for the +footsteps on the stairs, to rise and rub his hands, if the sound reached +him, to shake his head gravely if he were again disappointed, in short +to go through the same little round of performance as before until some +chiming clock suggested to his imagination that the train had come and +brought no one, and that he might enjoy an interval of distraction in +looking out of the window until the next one arrived. The Count must +have had a very exaggerated idea of the facility of communication +between Munich and Russia, for he assuredly stood waiting for his +friends, combed, brushed, and altogether at his best, more than twenty +times between the morning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> and the evening. As the day declined, indeed, +his imaginary railway station must have presented a scene of dangerous +confusion, for his international express trains seemed to come in +quicker and quicker succession, until he barely had time to look out of +the window before it became necessary to comb his hair again in order to +be ready for the next possible arrival. At last he walked perpetually on +a monotonous beat from the window to the mirror, from the mirror to the +door, and from the door to the mirror again.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he stopped and tapped his forehead with his hand. The sun was +setting and the last of his level rays shot over the sea of roofs and +the forest of chimneys and entered the little room in a broad red +stream, illuminating the lean, nervous figure as it stood still in the +ruddy light.</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens!" exclaimed the Count, in a tone of great anxiety, "I have +forgotten Fischelowitz and his money."</p> + +<p>There was a considerable break in the continuity of the imaginary +time-table, for he stood still a long time, in deep thought. He was +arguing the case in his mind. What he had promised was, to consider the +fifty marks as a debt of honour. Now a debt of honour must be paid +within twenty-four hours. No<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> doubt, thought the Count, it would not be +altogether impossible to consider the twenty-four hours as extending +from midnight to midnight. The Russians have an expression which means a +day and a night together—they call that space of time the sutki, and it +is a more or less elastic term, as we say "from day to day," "from one +evening to another." Rooms in Russian hotels are let by the sutki, +railway tickets are valid for one or more sutki, and the Count might +have chosen to consider that his sutki extended from the time when he +had spoken to Fischelowitz until twelve o'clock on the following night. +But he had no means of knowing exactly what the time had been when he +had been in the shop, and his punctilious ideas of honour drove him to +under-estimate the number of hours still at his disposal. Moreover, and +this last consideration determined his action, if he brought the money +too late it was to be feared that Fischelowitz would have shut up the +shop, after which there would be no certainty of finding him. The Count +wished to make the restitution of the money in Akulina's presence, but +he was also determined to give the fifty marks directly to the +tobacconist.</p> + +<p>He saw that the sun was going down, and that there was no time to be +lost. It occurred to him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> at the same instant that if he was to pay the +debt at all, he must find money for that purpose, and although, in his +own belief, he was to be master of a large fortune in the course of the +evening, no scheme for raising so considerable a sum as fifty marks +presented itself to his imagination. Poor as he was, he was far more +used to lending than to borrowing, and more accustomed to giving than to +either. He regretted, now, that he had bound himself to pay the debt +to-day. It would have been so easy to name the next day but one. But who +could have foreseen that his friends would miss that particular train +and only arrive late in the evening?</p> + +<p>He paced his room in growing anxiety, his trouble increasing in exact +proportion with the decrease of the daylight.</p> + +<p>"Fifty marks!" he exclaimed, in dismay, as he realised more completely +the dilemma in which he was placed. "Fifty marks! It is an enormous sum +to find at a moment's notice. If they had only telegraphed me a credit +at once, I could have got it from a bank—a bank—yes—but they do not +know me. That is it. They do not know me. And then, it is late."</p> + +<p>The drops of perspiration stood on his pale forehead as he began to walk +again. He glanced at his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> possessions and turned from the contemplation +of them in renewed despair. Many a time, before, he had sought among his +very few belongings for some object upon which a pawnbroker might +advance five marks, and he had sought in vain. The furniture of the room +was not his, and beyond the furniture the room contained little enough. +He had parted long ago with an old silver watch, of which the chain had +even sooner found its way to the lender's. A long-cherished ring had +disappeared last winter, by an odd coincidence, at the very time when +Johann Schmidt's oldest child was lying ill with diphtheria. As for +clothing, he had nothing to offer. The secrets of his outward appearance +were known to him alone, but they were of a nature to discourage the +hope of raising money on coat or trousers. A few well-thumbed volumes of +Russian authors could not be expected to find a brilliant sale in Munich +at a moment's notice. He looked about, and he saw that there was +nothing, and he turned very pale.</p> + +<p>"And yet, before midnight, it must be paid," he said. Then his face +brightened again. "Before midnight—but they will be here before then, +of course. Perhaps I may borrow the money for a few hours."</p> + +<p>But in order to do this, or to attempt it, he must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> go out. What if his +friends arrived at the moment when he was out of the house?</p> + +<p>"No," he said, consulting his imaginary time-table, "there is no train +now, for a couple of hours, at least."</p> + +<p>He took up his hat and turned to go. It struck him, however, that to +provide against all possible accidents it would be as well to leave some +written word upon his table, and he took up a sheet of writing paper and +a pen. It was remarkable that there was a good supply of the former on +the table, and that the inkstand contained ink in a fluid state, as +though the Count were in the habit of using it daily. He wrote rapidly, +in Russian.</p> + +<p>"This line is to inform you that Count Skariatine is momentarily absent +from his lodging on a matter of urgent importance, connected with a +personal engagement. He will return as soon as possible and requests +that you will have the goodness to wait, if you should happen to arrive +while he is out."</p> + +<p>He set the piece of notepaper upright, in a prominent position upon the +table, and exactly opposite to the door. He did not indeed recollect +that in the course of half an hour the room would be quite dark, and he +was quite satisfied that he had taken every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> reasonable precaution +against missing his visitors altogether. Once more he seized his hat, +and a moment later he was descending the long flights of stairs towards +the street. As he went, the magnitude of the sum of money he needed +appalled him, and by the time he stepped out upon the pavement into the +fresh evening air, he was in a state of excitement and anxiety which +bordered on distraction. His brain refused to act any longer, and he was +utterly incapable of thinking consecutively of anything, still less of +solving a problem so apparently incapable of solution as was involved in +the question of finding fifty marks at an hour's notice. It was +practically of little use to repeat the words "Fifty marks" incessantly +and in an audible voice, to the great surprise of the few pedestrians he +met. It was far from likely that any of them would consider themselves +called upon to stop in their walk and to produce two large gold pieces +and a small one, for the benefit of an odd-looking stranger. And yet, as +he hurried along the street, the poor Count had not the least idea where +he was going, and if he should chance to reach any definite destination +in his erratic course he would certainly be much puzzled to decide what +he was to do upon his arrival. The one thing which remained clearly +defined in his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> shaken intelligence was that he must pay to Fischelowitz +the money promised within the limit of time agreed upon, or be disgraced +for ever in his own eyes, as well as in the estimation of the world at +large. The latter catastrophe would be bad enough, but nothing short of +self-destruction could follow upon his condemnation of himself.</p> + +<p>A special Providence is said to watch over the movements of madmen, +sleep-walkers and drunkards. Those who find difficulty in believing in +the direct intervention of Heaven in very trivial matters of everyday +life, are satisfied to put a construction of less tremendous import upon +the facts in cases concerning the preservation of their irresponsible +brethren. A great deal may be accounted for by considering what are the +instincts of the body when momentarily liberated from the directing +guidance of the mind. It has been already noticed in the course of this +story that, when the Count did not know where he was going, he was +generally making the best of his way to the establishment in which so +much of his time was passed. This is exactly what took place on the +present occasion. Conscious only of his debt, and not knowing where to +find money with which to pay it, he was unwittingly hurrying towards the +very place in which the payment was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> to be made, and, within a quarter +of an hour of his leaving his lodging, he found himself standing on the +pavement, over against the tobacconist's shop, stupidly gazing at the +glass door, the well-known sign and the familiar, dilapidated chalet of +cigarettes which held a prominent place in the show window. No longer +ago than yesterday afternoon the little Swiss cottage had been flanked +by the Wiener Gigerl, whose smart red coat and insolent face had been +the cause of so much disaster and anxiety during the past twenty-four +hours. The very fact that the doll was no longer there, in its +accustomed place, served to remind the Count of his rash promise to pay +the money and dangerously increased the excitement which already +possessed him. He wiped the cold drops from his brow and leaned for a +moment against the brick wall behind him. He was dizzy, confused and +tired.</p> + +<p>The tormenting thought that was driving him recalled his failing +consciousness of outer things. He straightened himself again and made a +step forward, as though he would cross the street, but paused again +before his foot had left the pavement. Then he asked of his senses how +he had got to the place where he stood. He did not remember traversing +the familiar highways and byways by which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> he was accustomed daily to +make his way from his lodging to the shop. Every object on the way had +long been so well known to him as to cause a permanent impression in his +brain, which was distinctly visible to him whenever he thought of the +walk in any way, whether he had just been over the ground or not. He +could not now account to himself for his being so near Fischelowitz's +shop, and he found it impossible to decide whether he had come thither +by his usual route or not. It was still harder to explain the reason for +his coming, since the fifty marks were no nearer to his hand than +before, and without them it was useless to think of entering. As he +stood there, hesitating and trying to grasp the situation more clearly, +it grew, on the contrary, more and more confused. At the same time the +bells of a neighbouring church struck the hour, and the clanging tone +revived in his mind the other impression, which had possessed it all +day, the impression that his friends were at that moment arriving at the +railway station. The confusion in his thoughts became intolerable, and +he covered his eyes with one hand, steadying himself by pressing the +other against the wall.</p> + +<p>He did not know how long he had stood thus, when an anxious voice +recalled him to outer things—a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> voice in which love, sympathy, +tenderness and anxiety for him had taken possession of the weak tones +and lent them a passing thrill of touching music.</p> + +<p>"In Heaven's name—what is it? Speak to me—I am Vjera—here, beside +you."</p> + +<p>He looked up suddenly, and seemed to recover his self-possession.</p> + +<p>"You came just in time, Vjera—God bless you. I—" he hesitated. "I +think—I must have been a little dizzy with the heat. It is a warm +evening—a very warm evening."</p> + +<p>He pressed an old silk pocket-handkerchief to his moist brow, the +pocket-handkerchief which he always had about him, freshly ironed and +smoothly folded, on the day when he expected his friends. Vjera, her +face pale with distress, passed her arm through his and made as though +she would walk with him down the gentle slope of the street, which leads +in the direction of the older city. He suffered himself to be led a few +steps in silence.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going, Vjera?" he asked, stopping again and looking into +her face.</p> + +<p>"Wherever you like," she said, trying to speak cheerfully. She saw that +something terrible was happening, and it was only by a desperate effort<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +that she controlled the violent hysterical emotion that rose like a +great lump in her throat.</p> + +<p>"Ah, that is it, Vjera," he answered. "That is it. Where shall I go, +child?" Then he laughed nervously. "The fact is," he continued, "that I +am in a very absurd position. I do not at all know what to do."</p> + +<p>Perhaps he had tried to give himself courage by the attempt to laugh, +but, in that case, he had failed for the present. In spite of his words +his despair was evident. His usually erect carriage was gone. His head +sank wearily forward, his shoulders rounded themselves as though under a +burden, his feet dragged a little as he tried to walk on again, and he +leaned heavily on the young girl's arm.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she asked. "Tell me—perhaps I can help you—I mean—I beg +your pardon," she added, humbly, "perhaps it would help you to speak of +it. That sometimes makes things seem clearer just when they have been +most confused."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so, Vjera, perhaps so. You are a very good girl, and you came +just in time. I love you, Vjera—do not forget that I love you." His +voice was by turns sharp and suddenly low and monotonous, like that of a +man talking in sleep. Altogether his manner was so strange that poor +Vjera feared the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> very worst. The extremity of her anxiety kept her from +losing her self-possession. For the first time in her life she felt that +she was the stronger of the two, and that if he was to be saved it must +be by her efforts rather than by anything he was now able to do for +himself. She loved him, mad or sane, with an admiration and a devotion +which took no account of his intellectual state except to grieve over it +for his own sake. The belief that in this crisis she might be of use to +him, strongly conquered the rising hysterical passion, and drove the +tears so far from her eyes that she wondered vaguely why she had been so +near to shedding them a few moments sooner. She pressed his arm with her +hand.</p> + +<p>"And I, too, I love you, with all my heart and soul," she said. "And if +you will tell me what has happened, I will do what I can—if it were my +life that were needed. I know I can help you, for God will help me."</p> + +<p>He raised his head a little and again stood still, gazing into her eyes +with an odd sort of childish wonder.</p> + +<p>"What makes you so strong, Vjera? You used to be a weak little thing."</p> + +<p>"Love," she answered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was strange to see such a man, outwardly lean, tough-looking, well +put together and active, though not, indeed, powerful, looking at the +poor white-faced girl and asking the secret of her strength, as though +he envied it. But at that moment, the natural situation was reversed. +His eyes were lustreless, tired, without energy. Hers were suddenly +bright and flashing with determination, and with the expression of her +new-found will. Vjera felt that all at once a change had come over her, +the weak strings of her heart grew strong, the dreamy hopelessness of +her thoughts fell away, leaving one clearly defined resolution in its +place. The man she loved was going mad, and she would save him, cost +what it might.</p> + +<p>That Faith, no larger than the tiniest mustard seed, but able to toss +the mountains, as pebbles, from their foundations into the sea, is the +determination to do the thing chosen to be done or to die—literally, to +die—in the trying to do it. Death is farther from most of us than we +fancy, and if we would but risk all, to win or lose all, we could almost +always do the deed which looks so grimly impossible. Those who have +faced great physical dangers, or who have been matched by fate against +overwhelming odds of anxiety and trouble, alone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> know what great things +are done when men stand at bay and face the world, and fate, and life, +and death and misfortune, all banded together against them, and say in +their hearts, "We will win this fight or die." Then, at that word, when +it is spoken earnestly, in sincerity and truth, the iron will rises up +and takes possession of the feeble body, the doubting soul shakes off +its hesitating weakness, is drawn back upon itself like a strong bow +bent double, is compressed and full of a terrible latent power, like the +handful of deadly explosive which, buried in the bosom of the rock, will +presently shake the mighty cliff to its roots, as no thunderbolt could +shake it.</p> + +<p>Vjera had made up her mind that she would save the man she loved from +the destruction which was coming upon him. How he was to be saved, she +knew not, but then and there, on the pavement of the commonplace Munich +street, she made her stand and faced the odds, as bravely as ever +soldier faced the enemy's triumphant charge, though she was only a +forlorn little Polish shell-maker, without much health or strength, and +having very little understanding of the danger beyond that which was +given to her by her love.</p> + +<p>She fixed her eyes upon the Count's face as though she would have him +obey her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I will help you, and make everything right," she said. "But you must +tell me what the trouble is."</p> + +<p>"But how can you help me, child?" he asked, beginning to grow calmer +under her clear gaze. "It is such a very complicated case," he +continued, falling back gradually into his own natural manner. "You see, +my friends have probably arrived by this train, and yet I cannot go home +until I have set this other matter right with Fischelowitz. It is true, +I have left a word written for them on my table, and perhaps they are +there now, waiting for me, and if I went home I could have the money at +once. But then—it may be too late before I get here again—"</p> + +<p>"What money?" asked Vjera, anxious to get at the truth without delay.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is an absurd thing," he answered, growing nervous again. "Quite +absurd—and yet, it is fifty marks—and until they come, I do not see +what to do. Fifty marks—to-day it seems so much, and to-morrow it will +seem so little!" He made a poor attempt to smile, but his voice +trembled.</p> + +<p>"But these fifty marks—what do you need them for to-night?" Vjera +asked, not understanding at all. "Will not to-morrow do as well?"</p> + +<p>"No, no!" he cried in renewed anxiety. "It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> must be to-night, now, this +very hour. If I do not pay the money, I am ruined, Vjera, disgraced for +ever. It is a debt of honour—you do not understand what that means, +child, nor how terrible it is for a man not to pay before the day is +over—ah, if it were not a debt of honour!—but there is no time to be +lost. It is almost dark already. Go home, dear Vjera, go home. I cannot +go with you to-night, for I must find this money. Good-night—and then +to-morrow—I have not forgotten, and you must not forget—but there is +no time now—good-night!"</p> + +<p>He suddenly broke away from her side and began walking quickly in the +opposite direction, his head bent down, his arms swinging by his side. +She ran after him and again took his arm, and looked into his face.</p> + +<p>"You must not go away like this," she said, so firmly and with so much +authority that he stood still. "You have only half explained the trouble +to me, but I can help you. A debt of honour, you say—what will happen +if you do not pay it?"</p> + +<p>"I must die," answered the Count. "I could never respect myself again."</p> + +<p>"You have borrowed this money of Fischelowitz and promised to pay it +to-day? Is that it? Tell me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No—I never borrowed it. No, no—it was that villain, last winter, who +gave him the Gigerl—"</p> + +<p>"And Fischelowitz expects you to pay that!" cried Vjera, indignantly. +"It is impossible."</p> + +<p>"When I took the Gigerl away last night I promised to bring the fifty +marks by to-night. I gave my word, my word as a gentleman, Vjera, which +I cannot break—my word, as a gentleman," he repeated with something of +his old dignity.</p> + +<p>"It is monstrous that Fischelowitz should have taken such a promise," +said Vjera.</p> + +<p>"That does not alter the obligation," answered the Count proudly. +"Besides, I gave it of my own accord. I did not wait for him to ask it, +after his wife accused me of being the means of his losing the money."</p> + +<p>"Oh, how could she be so heartless!" Vjera exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"What was the use of telling you? I did not mean to. Good-night, Vjera +dear—I must be quick." He tried to leave her, but she held him fast.</p> + +<p>"I will get you the money at once," she said desperately and without the +least hesitation. He started, in the utmost astonishment, staring at her +as though he fancied that she had lost her senses.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You! Why, Vjera, how can you imagine that I would take it from you, or +how do you think it would be possible for you to find it? You are mad, +my dear child, quite mad!"</p> + +<p>In spite of everything, the tears broke from her eyes at the words which +meant so much to her and which seemed to mean so little to him. But she +brushed them bravely away.</p> + +<p>"You say you love me—you know that I love you. Do you trust me? Do you +believe in me? And if you do, why then believe that I will do what I +say. And as for taking the fifty marks from me—will not your friends be +here to-night, as you say, and will you not be able to give it all back +very soon? Only wait here—or no, go into the shop and talk to +Fischelowitz—I will bring it to you in less than an hour, I promise you +that I will—"</p> + +<p>"But how? Oh, Vjera—I am in such trouble that I could almost bring +myself to borrow it of you if you could lend it—I despise myself, but +it is growing so late, and it will only be until to-morrow, only for a +few hours perhaps. If you will wait to-night I may bring it to you +before bedtime. But—are you sure, Vjera? Have you really got it? If I +should wait here—and you should not find it—and my word should be +broken—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + +<p>"For your word I give you mine. You shall have it in an hour." She tried +to throw so much certainty into her tone as might persuade him, and she +succeeded. "Where will you wait for me? In the shop?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No—not there. In the Café here—I am tired—I will sit down and drink +a cup of coffee. I think I have a little money—enough for that." He +smiled faintly as he felt in his pockets. Then his face fell. On the +previous evening, when they had led him away from the eating-house, he +had carelessly given all he had—a mark and two pennies—to pay for his +supper, throwing it to the fat hostess without any reckoning, as he went +out. "Never mind," he said, after the fruitless search. "I will wait +outside."</p> + +<p>But Vjera thrust a silver piece into his hand and was gone before he +could protest. And in this way she took upon herself the burden of the +Count's debt of honour.</p> + + + + +<hr class="major" /> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="r6118" id="r6118"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> +</div> + +<p>Vjera turned her head when she had reached the corner of the street, and +saw that the Count had disappeared. He had entered the Café, and had +evidently accepted her assurance that she would bring the money without +delay. So far, at least, she had been successful. Though by far the most +difficult portion of the enterprise lay before her, she was convinced +that if she could really produce the fifty marks, the approaching +catastrophe of total madness would be averted. Her determination was +still so strong that she never doubted the possibility of performing her +promise. Without hesitation, she returned to the shop, in search of +Johann Schmidt, to whose energies and kindness she instinctively turned +for counsel and help. As she came to the door she saw that he was just +bidding good-night to his employer. She waited a moment and met him on +the pavement as he came out.</p> + +<p>"I must have fifty marks in an hour, Herr Schmidt," she said, boldly. +"If I do not get it, something dreadful will happen."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Fifty marks!" exclaimed the Cossack in a tone of amazement. If she had +said fifty millions, the shock to his financial sense could not have +been more severe. "It is an enormous sum," he said, slowly, while she +fixed her eyes upon him, waiting for his answer. "What is the matter, +Vjera? Have you not been able to pay your rent this year, and has old +Homolka threatened to turn you out?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no! It is worse than that, far worse than that! If it were only +myself—" she hesitated.</p> + +<p>"What is it? Who is it? Perhaps it is not so serious as you think. Tell +me all about it."</p> + +<p>"There is very little time—only an hour. He is going mad—really mad, +Herr Schmidt, because he has given his word of honour to pay Herr +Fischelowitz that money this evening. I only calmed him, by promising to +bring the money at once."</p> + +<p>"You promised that?" exclaimed Schmidt. "It was a very wild promise—"</p> + +<p>"I will keep it, and you must help me. We have an hour. If we do not +succeed he will never be himself again."</p> + +<p>"But fifty marks!" Schmidt could not recover from his astonishment. "Oh, +Vjera!" he exclaimed at last, in the simplicity of his heart, "how you +must love him!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I would do more than that—if I could," she answered. "But come, you +will help me, will you not? I have a ten-mark piece and an old thaler +put away at home. That makes thirteen, and two I have in my pocket, +fifteen and—I am afraid that is all," she concluded after a slight +hesitation.</p> + +<p>"And five are twenty," said the Cossack, producing the six which he had, +and taking one silver piece out of the number to be returned to his +pocket. The children must not starve on the morrow.</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you, Herr Schmidt!" cried poor Vjera in a joyful voice as she +eagerly took the proffered coins. "Twenty already! Why, twenty-five will +be half, will it not? And I am sure that we can find the rest, then."</p> + +<p>"There is Dumnoff," said Schmidt. "He probably has something, too."</p> + +<p>"But I could not borrow of him—besides, if he knew it was for the +Count—and he is so rough—he would not give it to us."</p> + +<p>"We shall see," answered the other, who knew his man. "Wait a moment. He +is still inside."</p> + +<p>He re-entered the shop, where Fischelowitz and his wife were conversing +under the gaslight.</p> + +<p>"I tell you," Akulina was saying, "that it is high time you got rid of +him. The new workman from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> Vilna will take his place, and it is +positively ridiculous to be made to submit to this madman's humours, and +impertinence. What sort of a man are you, Christian Gregorovitch, to let +the fellow carry off your Gigerl, with his airy promise to pay you the +money to-day?"</p> + +<p>"The Gigerl was broken," observed the tobacconist.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it could have been mended; and if it was really stolen, was that +our business, I would like to know? Nobody would ever have supposed, +seeing it in our window, that it had been stolen. And it could have been +mended, as I say, and might have been worth something after all. You +never really tried to sell it, as you ought to have done from the very +first. And now you have got nothing at all, nothing but that insolent +maniac's promise. If I were you I would take the money out of his wages, +I would indeed!"</p> + +<p>"No doubt you would," said Fischelowitz, with sincere conviction.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Schmidt had gone into the back shop, where Dumnoff was still +doggedly working, making up for the time he had lost by coming late in +the morning. He was alone at his little table.</p> + +<p>"How much money have you got?" asked the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> Cossack, briefly. Dumnoff +looked up rather stupidly, dropped the cigarette he was making, and felt +in his pocket for his change. He produced five marks, an unusual sum for +him to have in his possession, and which would not have found itself in +his hands had not his arrest on the previous evening prevented his +spending considerably more than he had spent in his favourite +corn-brandy.</p> + +<p>"I want it all," said Schmidt.</p> + +<p>"You are a cool-blooded fellow," laughed Dumnoff, making as though he +would return the coins to his pocket.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Dumnoff," answered the Cossack, his bright eyes gleaming. "I +want that money. You know me, and you had better give it to me without +making any trouble."</p> + +<p>Dumnoff seemed confused by the sharpness of the demand, and hesitated.</p> + +<p>"You seem in a great hurry," he said, with an awkward laugh, "I suppose +you mean to give it back to me?"</p> + +<p>"You shall have it at the rate of a mark a day in the next five work +days. You will get your pay this evening and that will be quite enough +for you to get drunk with to-night."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That is true," said Dumnoff, thoughtfully. "Well, take it," he added, +slipping the money into the other's outstretched palm.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said the Cossack. "You are not so bad as you look, Dumnoff. +Good-night." He was gone in a moment.</p> + +<p>Dumnoff stared at the door through which he had disappeared.</p> + +<p>"After all," he muttered, discontentedly, "he could not have taken it by +force. I wonder why I was such a fool as to give it to him!"</p> + +<p>"I tell you," said Akulina to her husband as Schmidt passed through the +outer shop, "that he will end by costing us so much in money lent, and +squandered in charity, that the business will go to dust and feathers! I +am only a weak woman, Christian Gregorovitch, but I have four +children—"</p> + +<p>The Cossack heard no more, for he closed the street door behind him and +returned to Vjera's side. She was standing as he had left her, absorbed +in the contemplation of the financial crisis.</p> + +<p>"Five more," said he, giving her the silver. "That is one half. Now for +the other. But are you quite sure, Vjera, that it is as bad as you +think? I know that Fischelowitz does not in the least expect the +money."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No—I daresay not. But I know this, if I had not met him just now and +promised to bring him the fifty marks, he would have been raving mad +before morning." Schmidt saw by her look that she was convinced of the +fact.</p> + +<p>"Very well," he said. "I am not going to turn back now. The poor Count +has done me many a good turn in his time, and I will do my best, though +I do not exactly see what more I can do, at such short notice."</p> + +<p>"Have you got anything worth pawning, Herr Schmidt?" asked Vjera, +ruthless, as devoted people can be when the object of their devotion is +in danger.</p> + +<p>"Well—I have not much that I can spare. There is the bed—but my wife +cannot sleep on the floor, though I would myself. And there are a few +pots and pans in the kitchen—not worth much, and I do not know what we +should do without them. I do not know, I am sure. I cannot take the +children's things, Vjera, even for you."</p> + +<p>"No," said Vjera doubtfully. "I suppose not. Of course not!" she +exclaimed, immediately afterwards, with an attempt to express +conviction.</p> + +<p>"There is one thing—there is the old samovar," continued the Cossack. +"It has a leak in one side,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> and we make the tea as we can, when we have +any. But I remember that I once pawned it, years ago, for five marks."</p> + +<p>"That would make thirty," said Vjera promptly.</p> + +<p>"I do not believe they would lend so much on it now, though it is good +metal. It is a little battered, besides being leaky."</p> + +<p>"Let us get it," said Vjera, beginning to walk briskly on. "I have +something, too, though I do not know what it is worth. It is an old skin +of a wolf—my father killed it inside the village, just before we came +away."</p> + +<p>"A wolf skin!" exclaimed Schmidt. "That may be worth something, if it is +good."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid it is not very good," answered Vjera doubtfully. "The hair +comes out. I think it must have been a mangy wolf. And there is a bad +hole on one side."</p> + +<p>"It was probably badly cured," said the Cossack, who understood furs. +"But I can mend the hole in five minutes, so that nobody will see it."</p> + +<p>"We will get it, too. But I am afraid that it will not be nearly enough +to make up the twenty-five marks. They could not possibly give us twenty +marks for the skin, could they?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed, unless you could sell it to some one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> who does not +understand those things. And the samovar will not bring five, as I said. +We must find something else."</p> + +<p>"Let us get the samovar first," said Vjera decisively. "I will wait +downstairs till you get it, and then you will wait for me where I live, +and after that we will go together. I may find something else. Indeed, I +must, or we shall not have enough."</p> + +<p>They walked rapidly through the deepening shadows towards Schmidt's +home. Vjera moved, as people do, who are possessed by an idea which must +be put into immediate execution, her head high, her eyes full of light, +her lips set, her step firm. Her companion was surprised to find that he +needed to walk fast in order to keep by her side. He looked at her +often, as he had looked all day, with an expression that showed at once +much interest, considerable admiration and some pity. If he had not been +lately brought to some new opinion concerning the girl he would +certainly not have entered into her wild scheme for calming the Count's +excitement without at least arguing the case lengthily, and discussing +all the difficulties which presented themselves to his imagination. As +it was, he felt himself carried away by a sort of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> enthusiasm in her +cause, which would have led him to make even greater sacrifices than he +had it in his power to offer. So strong was this feeling that he felt +called upon to make a sort of apology.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry I cannot do more to help you," he said regretfully. "It is +very little I know, but then, you see I am not alone in the world, +Vjera. There are others to be thought of. And besides, I have just paid +the rent, and there are no savings left."</p> + +<p>"Dear Herr Schmidt," answered Vjera gratefully, "you are doing too much +already—but I cannot help taking all you give me, though I can thank +you for it with all my heart."</p> + +<p>They did not speak again during the next few minutes, until they reached +the door of the house in which the Cossack lived.</p> + +<p>"I shall only need a moment," he said, as he dived into the dark +entrance.</p> + +<p>He lost so little time, that it seemed to Vjera as though the echo of +his steps had not died away upon the stairs before she heard his +footfall again as he descended. This time, however, there was a rattle +and clatter of metal to be heard as well as his quick tread and the loud +creaking of his coarse, stiff shoes. He emerged into the street with the +body of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> samovar under one arm. The movable brass chimney of the +machine was sticking out of one of his pockets, and in his left hand he +had its little tray, with the rings and other pieces belonging to the +whole. Amongst those latter objects, which he grasped tightly in his +fingers, there figured also the fragment of a small spoon of which the +bowl had been broken from the handle.</p> + +<p>"It is silver," he said, referring to the latter utensil, as he held up +the whole handful before Vjera's eyes. "But if we can find a jeweller's +shop open, we will sell it. We can get more for it in that way. And now +your wolf's skin, Vjera. And be sure to bring me a needle and some +strong thread when you come down. I can mend the hole by the gaslight in +the street, for Homolka would not understand it if he saw me going to +your room, you know."</p> + +<p>She helped him to put all the smaller things into his pockets, so that +he had only the samovar itself, and its metal tray to carry in his +hands, and then they went briskly on towards Vjera's lodging.</p> + +<p>"Do you think we shall get three marks for the little spoon?" she asked, +constantly preoccupied by her calculations.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," Schmidt answered cheerfully. "We<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> may get five. It is good +silver, and they buy silver by weight."</p> + +<p>A few moments later she stood still before a narrow shop which was +lighted within, though there was no lamp in the windows. It was that of +a small watchmaker and jeweller, and a few silver watches and some cheap +chains and trinkets were visible behind the glass pane.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he may buy the spoon," suggested Vjera, anxious to lose no +time.</p> + +<p>Without a word Schmidt entered the shop, while the girl stood outside. +In less than five minutes he came out again with something in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Three and a half," he said, handing her the money.</p> + +<p>"I had hoped it would be worth more," she answered, putting the coins +with the rest.</p> + +<p>"No. He weighed it with silver marks. It weighed just four of them, and +he said he must have half a mark to make it worth his while."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Vjera, "it is always something. I have twenty-eight +and a half now."</p> + +<p>When they reached her lodging Schmidt set down the samovar upon the +pavement and made himself a cigarette, while he waited for her. She was +gone a long time, as it seemed to him, and he was beginning to wonder +whether anything had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> happened, when she suddenly made her appearance, +noiseless in her walk, as always. The old wolf's skin was hung over one +shoulder, and she carried besides a limp-looking brown paper parcel, +tied with a bit of folded ribband. As he caught sight of her face in the +light of the street lamp, Schmidt fancied that she was paler than +before, and that her cheek was wet.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry I was so long," she said. "The little sister cried because I +would not stay, and I had to quiet her. Here is the skin. Do you see? I +am afraid this is a very big hole—and the hair comes out in handfuls. +Look at it."</p> + +<p>"It was a very old wolf," remarked the Cossack, holding the skin up +under the gaslight.</p> + +<p>"Does that make it worth less?" asked Vjera anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Not of itself; on the contrary. And I can mend the hole, if you have +the thread and needle. The worst thing about it all is the way the hairs +fall out. I am afraid the moths have been at it, Vjera." He shook his +head gravely. "I am afraid the moths have done a great deal of damage."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if I had only known—I would have been so careful! And to think +that it might have been worth something."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is worth something as it is, but at the pawnbroker's they will not +lend much on it." He took the threaded needle, which she had not +forgotten, and sitting down upon the edge of the pavement spread the +skin upon his knees with the fur downwards. Then he quickly began to +draw the hole together, sewing it firmly with the furrier's cross +stitch, and so neatly that the seam looked like a single straight line +on the side of the leather, while it was quite invisible in the fur on +the other.</p> + +<p>"What is the other thing you have brought?" he inquired without looking +up from his work. The light was bad, and he had to bend his eyes close +to the sewing.</p> + +<p>"It is something I may be able to sell," said Vjera in a rather unsteady +voice.</p> + +<p>"Silver?" asked Schmidt, cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"Oh no—not silver—something dearer," she said, almost under her +breath. "I am afraid it is very hard for you to see," she added quickly, +attempting to avoid his questions. "Do you not think that I could hold a +match for you, to make a little more light? You always have some with +you."</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment—yes—I have almost finished the seam—here is the box. +Now, if you can hold<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> the match just there, just over the needle, and +keep it from going out, I can finish the end off neatly."</p> + +<p>Vjera knelt down beside him and held the flickering bit of wood as well +as she was able. They made a strange picture, out in the unfrequented +street, the dim glare of the gaslight above them, and the redder flame +of the match making odd tints and shadows in their faces. Vjera's shawl +had slipped back from her head and her thick tress of red-brown hair had +found its way over her shoulder. An artist, strolling supperwards from +his studio, came down their side of the way. He stopped and looked at +them.</p> + +<p>"Has anything happened?" he asked kindly. "Can I be of any use?"</p> + +<p>Vjera looked up with a frightened glance. The Cossack paid no attention +to the stranger.</p> + +<p>"Oh no, thank you—thank you, sir, it is nothing—only a little piece of +work to finish."</p> + +<p>The artist gave one more look and passed on, wishing that he could have +had pencil and paper and light at his command for five minutes.</p> + +<p>"There," said Schmidt triumphantly. "It is done, and very well done. And +now for the pawn-shop, Vjera!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p> + +<p>Vjera took the skin over her arm and her companion picked up the samovar +with its tray, and they moved on again. Vjera's face was pale and sad, +but she seemed more confident of success than ever, and her step was +elastic and hopeful. Johann Schmidt's curiosity was very great, as has +been seen on previous occasions. He did his best to control it, for some +time, only trying to guess from the general appearance of the limp +parcel what it might contain. But his ingenuity failed to solve the +problem. At last he could bear it no longer. They were entering the +street where the pawnbroker's shop was situated when his resolution +broke down.</p> + +<p>"Is it a piece of lace?" he asked at a venture. "If it is, you know, and +if it is good, it may be worth all the other things together."</p> + +<p>"No. It is not a piece of lace," answered the girl. "I will tell you +what it is, if we do not get enough without it."</p> + +<p>"I only thought," explained the Cossack, "that if we were going to try +and pawn it, I had better know—"</p> + +<p>"We cannot pawn it," said Vjera decisively. "It will have to be sold. +Let us go in together." She spoke the last words as they reached the +door of the pawn-shop.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I could save you the trouble," Schmidt suggested, offering to take the +wolf's skin. But Vjera would not give it up. She felt that she must see +everything done herself, if only to distract her thoughts from more +painful matters.</p> + +<p>The place was half full of people, most of them with anxious faces, and +all having some object or other in their hands. The pawn-shops do their +best business in the evening. A man and a woman, both advanced in middle +age, well fed, parsimoniously washed and possessing profiles of an +outline disquieting to Christian prejudices, leaned over the counter, +handled the articles offered them, consulted each other in +incomprehensible monosyllables, talked volubly to the customers in oily +undertones and from time to time counted out small doses of change which +they gave to the eager recipients, accompanied by little slips of paper +on which there were both printed and written words. The room was warm +and redolent of poverty. A broad flame of gas burned, without a shade, +over the middle of the counter.</p> + +<p>In spite of their unctuous tones the Hebrew and his wife did their +business rapidly, with sharpness and decision. Either one of them would +have undertaken to name the precise pawning value of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> anything on earth +and, possibly, of most things in heaven, provided that the universe were +brought piecemeal to their counter. Both Vjera and Schmidt had been made +acquainted by previous necessities with the establishment. Vjera held +her paper parcel in her hand. The other things were laid together upon +the counter. The Hebrew woman glanced at the samovar, felt the weight of +it and turned it once round.</p> + +<p>"Leaky," she observed in her smooth voice. "Old brass. One mark and a +half." Her husband put out his hand, touched the machine, lifted it, and +nodded.</p> + +<p>"Only a mark and a half!" exclaimed Vjera. "And the skin, how much for +that?"</p> + +<p>"It is a genuine Russian wolf," Schmidt put in. "And it is very large."</p> + +<p>"Moth-eaten," said the Jewess. "And there is a hole in the side. Five +marks."</p> + +<p>Schmidt held the fur up to the light and blew into it with a +professional air, as furriers do.</p> + +<p>"Look at that!" he cried, persuasively. "Why, it is worth twenty!"</p> + +<p>The Hebrew lady, instead of answering extended a fat thumb and a plump, +pointed forefinger, and pinching a score of hairs between the two, +pulled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> them out without effort, and then held them close to the +Cossack's eyes.</p> + +<p>"Five marks," she repeated, getting the money out and preparing to fill +in a couple of pawn-tickets.</p> + +<p>"Make it ten, with the samovar!" entreated Vjera. The Jewess smiled.</p> + +<p>"Do you think the samovar is of gold?" she inquired. "Six and a half for +the two. Take it or leave it."</p> + +<p>Vjera looked at Schmidt anxiously as though to ask his opinion.</p> + +<p>"They will not give more," he said, in Russian.</p> + +<p>The girl took the money and the flimsy tickets and they went out into +the street. Vjera hesitated as to the direction she should take, and +Schmidt looked to her as though awaiting her orders.</p> + +<p>"Twenty-eight and a half and six and a half are thirty-five," she said, +thoughtfully. "And we have nothing more to give, but this. I must sell +it, Herr Schmidt."</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it?" he asked, glad to know the secret at last.</p> + +<p>"It is my mother's hair. She cut it off herself when she knew she was +dying and she told me to sell it if ever I needed a little money."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> + +<p>The girl's voice trembled violently, and she turned her head away. +Schmidt was silent and very grave. Then Vjera began to move on again, +clutching the precious thing to her bosom and drawing her shawl over it.</p> + +<p>"The best man for this lives in the Maffei Strasse," said Schmidt after +a few minutes.</p> + +<p>"Show me the way." Vjera turned as he directed. At that moment she would +have lost herself in the familiar streets, had he not been there to +guide her.</p> + +<p>The hairdresser's shop was brilliantly lighted, and as good fortune +would have it, there were no customers within. With an entreating glance +which he obeyed, Vjera made Schmidt wait outside.</p> + +<p>"Please do not look!" she whispered. "I can bear it better alone." The +good fellow nodded and began to walk up and down.</p> + +<p>As Vjera entered the shop, the chief barber in command waltzed forward, +as hairdressers always seem to waltz. At the sight of the poor girl, +however, he assumed a stern appearance which, to tell the truth, was out +of character with his style of beauty. His rich brown locks were curled +and anointed in a way that might have aroused envy in the heart of an +Assyrian dandy in the palmy days of Sardanapalus.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you buy hair?" asked Vjera, timidly offering her limp parcel.</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly, sometimes," answered the barber. The youth in +attendance—the barber tadpole of the hairdresser frog—abandoned the +cleansing of a comb and came forward with a leer, in the hope that Vjera +might turn out to be pretty on a closer inspection. In this he was +disappointed.</p> + +<p>The man took the parcel and laid it on one of the narrow marble tables +placed before a mirror in a richly gilt frame. He pushed aside the blue +glass powder-box, the vial of brilliantine and the brushes. Vjera untied +the bit of faded ribband herself and opened the package. The contents +exhaled a faint, sickly odour.</p> + +<p>A tress of beautiful hair, of unusual length and thickness, lay in the +paper. The colour was that which is now so much sought after, and which +great ladies endeavour to produce upon their own hair, when they have +any, by washing it with extra-dry champagne, while little ladies imitate +them with a humble solution of soda. The colour in question is a +reddish-brown with rich golden lights in it, and it is very rare in +nature.</p> + +<p>The barber eyed the thick plait with a businesslike expression.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The colour is not so bad," he remarked, as though suggesting that it +might have been very much better.</p> + +<p>"Surely, it is very beautiful hair!" said Vjera, her heart almost +breaking at the sight of the tenderly treasured heirloom.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the man snuffed the odour, lifted the tress to his nose, and +smelt it. Then he laid it down again and took the thicker end, which was +tied tightly with a ribband, in his hands, pulling at the short lengths +of hair which projected beyond the knot. They broke very easily, with an +odd, soft snap.</p> + +<p>"It is worth nothing at all," said the barber decisively. "It is a pity, +for it is a very pretty colour."</p> + +<p>Vjera started, and steadied herself against the back of the professional +chair which stood by the table.</p> + +<p>"Nothing?" she repeated, half stupid with the pain of her +disappointment. "Nothing? not even fifteen marks?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. It is rotten, and could not be worked. The hairs break like +glass."</p> + +<p>Vjera pressed her left hand to her side as though something hurt her. +The tadpole youth grinned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> idiotically and the barber seemed anxious to +end the interview.</p> + +<p>With a look of broken-hearted despair the girl turned to the table and +began to do up her parcel again. Her shawl fell to the ground as she +moved. Then the tadpole nudged his employer and pointed at Vjera's long, +red-brown braid, and grinned again from ear to ear.</p> + +<p>"Is it fifteen marks that you want?" asked the man.</p> + +<p>"Fifteen—yes—I must have fifteen," repeated Vjera in dull tones.</p> + +<p>"I will give it to you for your own hair," said the barber with a short +laugh.</p> + +<p>"For my own?" cried Vjera, suddenly turning round. It had never occurred +to her that her own tress could be worth anything. "For my own?" she +repeated as though not believing her ears.</p> + +<p>"Yes—let me see," said the man. "Turn your head again, please. Let me +see. Yes, yes, it is good hair of the kind, though it has not the gold +lights in it that the other had. But, to oblige you, I will give you +fifteen for it."</p> + +<p>"But I must have the money now," said Vjera, suspiciously. "You must +give me the money now, to take with me. I cannot wait."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> + +<p>The barber smiled, and produced a gold piece and five silver ones.</p> + +<p>"You may hold the money in your hand," he said, offering it to her, +"while you sit down and I do the work."</p> + +<p>Vjera clutched the coins fiercely and placed herself in the big chair +before the mirror. She could see in the glass that her eyes were on +fire. The barber loosened a screw in the back of the seat and removed +the block with the cushion, handing it to his assistant.</p> + +<p>"The scissors, and a comb, Anton," he said briskly, lifting at the same +time the heavy tress and judging its weight. The reflection of the steel +flashed in the mirror, as the artist quickly opened and shut the +scissors, with that peculiar shuffling jingle which only barbers can +produce.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute!" cried Vjera, with sudden anxiety, and turning her head +as though to draw away her hair from his grasp. "One +minute—please—fifteen and thirty-five are really fifty, are they not?"</p> + +<p>The tadpole began to count on his fingers, whispering audibly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the barber. "Fifteen and thirty-five are fifty."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> + +<p>The tadpole desisted, having already got into mathematical difficulties +in counting from one hand over to the other.</p> + +<p>"Then cut it off quickly, please!" said poor Vjera, settling herself in +the chair again, and giving her head to the shears.</p> + +<p>In the silence that followed, only the soft jingle of the scissors was +heard.</p> + +<p>"There!" exclaimed the hairdresser, holding up a hand-mirror behind her. +"I have been generous, you see. I have not cut it very short. See for +yourself."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Vjera. "You are very kind." She saw nothing, indeed, +but she was satisfied, and rose quickly.</p> + +<p>She tied up the limp parcel with the same old piece of faded ribband, +and a little colour suddenly came into her face as she pressed it to her +bosom. All at once, she lost control of herself, and with a sharp sob +the tears gushed out. She stooped a little and drew her shawl over her +head to hide her face. The tears wet her hands and the brown paper, and +fell down to the greasy marble floor of the shop.</p> + +<p>"It will grow again very soon," said the barber, not unkindly. He +supposed, naturally enough, that she was weeping over her sacrifice.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh no! It is not that!" she cried. "I am so—so happy to have kept +this!" Then, without another word, she slipped noiselessly out into the +street, clasping the precious relic to her breast.</p> + + + + +<hr class="major" /> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="r4579" id="r4579"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> +</div> + +<p>"I have got it—I have got it all!" cried Vjera, as she came up with +Schmidt on the pavement. His quick eye caught sight of the parcel, only +half hidden by her shawl.</p> + +<p>"But you have brought the hair away with you," he said, in some anxiety, +and fearing a mistake or some new trouble.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered. "That is the best of it." Her tears had disappeared +as suddenly as they had come, and she could now hardly restrain the +nervous laughter that rose to her lips.</p> + +<p>"But how is that?" asked Schmidt, stopping.</p> + +<p>"I gave them my own," she laughed, hysterically. "I gave them my +own—instead. Quick, quick—there is no time to lose. Is it an hour yet, +since I left him?" She ran along, and Schmidt found it hard to keep +beside her without running, too. At last he broke into a sort of +jog-trot. In five minutes they were at the door of the café.</p> + +<p>The Count was sitting at a small table near the door, an empty +coffee-cup before him, staring with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> a fixed look at the opposite wall. +There were few people in the place, as the performances at the theatres +had already begun. Vjera entered alone.</p> + +<p>"I have brought you the money," she said, joyfully, as she stood beside +him and laid a hand upon his arm to attract his attention, for he had +not noticed her coming.</p> + +<p>"The money?" he said, excitedly. "The fifty marks? You have got it?"</p> + +<p>She sat down at the table, and began to count the gold and silver, +producing it from her pocket in instalments of four or five coins, and +making little heaps of them before him.</p> + +<p>"It is all there—every penny of it," she said, counting the piles +again.</p> + +<p>The poor man's eyes seemed starting from his head, as he leaned eagerly +forward over the money.</p> + +<p>"Is it real? Is it true?" he asked in a low voice. "Oh, Vjera, do not +laugh at me—is it really true, child?"</p> + +<p>"Really true—fifty marks." Her pale face beamed with pleasure. "And now +you can go and pay Fischelowitz at once," she added.</p> + +<p>But he leaned back a moment in his chair, looking at her intently. Then +his eyes grew moist, and, when he spoke, his voice quivered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p> + +<p>"May God forgive me for taking it of you," he said. "You have saved me, +Vjera—saved my honour, my life—all. God bless you, dear, God bless +you! I am very, very thankful."</p> + +<p>He put the coins carefully together and wrapped them in his silk +handkerchief, and rose from his seat. He had already paid for his cup of +coffee. They went out together. The Cossack had disappeared.</p> + +<p>"You have saved my life and my honour—my honour and my life," repeated +the Count, softly and dwelling on the words in a dreamy way.</p> + +<p>"I will wait outside," said Vjera as they reached the tobacconist's +shop, a few seconds later.</p> + +<p>The Count turned to her and laid both hands upon her shoulders, looking +into her face.</p> + +<p>"You cannot understand what you have done for me," he said earnestly.</p> + +<p>He stooped, for he was much taller than she, and closing his tired eyes +for a moment, he pressed his lips upon her waxen forehead. Before he had +seen the bright blush that glowed in her cheeks, he had entered the +shop.</p> + +<p>Akulina was seated in one corner, apparently in a bad humour, for her +dark face was flushed, and her small eyes looked up savagely at the +Count. Her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> husband was leaning over the counter, smoking and making a +series of impressions in violet ink upon the back of an old letter, with +an india-rubber stamp in which the word "Celebrated Manufactory" held a +prominent place. He nodded familiarly.</p> + +<p>"Herr Fischelowitz," said the Count, regaining suddenly his dignity of +manner and bearing, "in the course of the conversation last evening, I +said that I would to-day refund the fifty marks which you once lent to +that atrocious young man who wore green glasses. I daresay you remember +the circumstance?"</p> + +<p>"I had quite forgotten it," said Fischelowitz. "Please do not allow it +to trouble you, my dear Count. I never considered you responsible for +it, and of course you cannot—"</p> + +<p>"It is a shame!" Akulina broke in, angrily. "You ought to make him pay +it out of what he earns, since he took the Gigerl!"</p> + +<p>"Madam," said the Count, addressing her with great civility, "if it is +agreeable to you, we will not discuss the matter. I only reminded Herr +Fischelowitz of what took place because—"</p> + +<p>"Because you have no money—of course!" interrupted Akulina.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, because I have brought the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> money, and shall be +obliged to you if you will count it."</p> + +<p>Akulina's jaw dropped, and Fischelowitz looked up in amazement. The +Count produced his knotted handkerchief and laid it on the table.</p> + +<p>"I only wish you to understand," he said, speaking to Akulina, "that +when a gentleman gives his word he keeps it. Will you do me the favour +to count the money?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, it is no business of ours to find out how he got it," +observed Akulina, rising and coming forward.</p> + +<p>"None whatever, madam," answered the Count, spreading out the coins +which had been collected by loving hands from so many sources. "The only +question is, to ascertain whether there are fifty marks here or not."</p> + +<p>Fischelowitz stood looking on. He had not yet recovered from his +surprise, and was half afraid that there might be something wrong. But +the practical Akulina lost no time in assuring herself that the sum was +complete. As she realised this fact, her features relaxed into a +pleasant smile.</p> + +<p>"Well, Count," she said, "we are very much obliged to you for this. It +is very honest of you, for of course, you were not exactly called +upon—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I understood you to say that I was," replied the Count, gravely.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that was yesterday, and I am very sorry if I annoyed you. But let +bygones be bygones! I hope there is no ill-will between us?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, none at all," returned the other indifferently. "I have the honour +to wish you a very good evening." Without waiting for more, the Count +bowed and left the shop.</p> + +<p>"Akulina," said Fischelowitz, thoughtfully, as the door closed, "that +man is a gentleman, say what you please."</p> + +<p>"A pretty gentleman," laughed Akulina, putting the money into the till. +"A gentleman indeed—why, look at his coat!"</p> + +<p>"And you are a fool, Akulina," added Fischelowitz, handling his +india-rubber stamp.</p> + +<p>"Thank you; but for my foolery you would be fifty marks poorer to-night, +Christian Gregorovitch. A gentleman, pah!"</p> + +<p>The Count had drawn Vjera's willing arm through his, and they were +walking slowly away together.</p> + +<p>"I must be going home," she said, reluctantly. "The little sister will +be crying for me. I cannot leave her any longer."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not till I have thanked you, dear," he answered, pressing her arm to +his side. "But I will go with you to your door, and thank you all the +way—though the way is far too short for all I have to say."</p> + +<p>"I have done nothing—it has really cost me nothing." Vjera squeezed her +limp parcel under her shawl, and felt that she was speaking the truth.</p> + +<p>"I cannot believe that, Vjera," said the Count. "You could not have +found so much money so quickly, without making some great sacrifice. But +I will give it back to you—"</p> + +<p>"Oh no—no," she cried, earnestly. "Make no promises to me. Think what +this promise has cost you. When you have the money, you may give it back +if you choose—but it would make me so unhappy if you promised."</p> + +<p>"Would it, child? And yet, my friends are waiting for me, and they have +money for me, too. Then, I will only say that I will give it back to you +as soon as possible. Is that right?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—and nothing more than that. And as for thanking me—what have I +done that needs thanks? Would you not have done as much for me if—if, +for instance, I had been ill, and could not pay the rent of the room? +And then—think of the happiness I have had!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> + +<p>The words were spoken so simply and it was so clear that they were true, +that the Count found it hard to answer. Not because he had nothing to +express, but because the words for the expression could not be found. +Again he pressed her arm.</p> + +<p>"Vjera," he said, when they had walked some distance farther, "it is of +no use to speak of this. There is that between you and me which makes +speech contemptible and words ridiculous. There is only one thing that I +can do, Vjera dearest. I can love you, dear, with all my heart. Will you +take my love for thanks—and my devotion for gratitude? Will you, dear? +Will you remember what you promised and what I promised last night? As +soon as all is right, to-morrow, will you be my wife?"</p> + +<p>"If it could ever be!" sighed the poor girl, recalled suddenly to the +remembrance of his pitiful infirmity.</p> + +<p>"It can be, it shall be and it will be," he answered in tones of +conviction. "They are waiting for me now, Vjera, in my little room—but +they may wait, for I will not lose a moment of your dear company for +them all. They are waiting for me with the money and the papers and the +orders. I have waited long for them, they can afford to have a little +patience<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> now. And to-morrow, at this time, we shall be together, Vjera, +in the train—I will have a special carriage for you and me, and then, a +night and a day and another night and we shall be at home—for ever. How +happy we shall be! Will you not be happy with me, darling? Why do you +sigh?"</p> + +<p>"Did I sigh?" asked Vjera, trying to laugh a little.</p> + +<p>He hardly noticed the question, but began to talk again, as he had +talked on the previous evening, describing all that he meant to do, and +all that they would do together. Vjera heard and tried not to listen. +Her joy was all gone. The great, overwhelming pleasure she had felt in +dispelling his anxiety and in averting what had seemed a near and +terrible catastrophe, gave place to the old, heartrending pity for him, +as he rambled on in his delusion. She had hoped that, as it was late on +Wednesday evening, the time of it was passed and that, for another week, +he would talk no more of his friends and his money and his return to +fortune. But the fixed idea was there still, as dominant as ever. Her +light tread grew weary and her head sank forward as she walked. For one +short hour she had felt the glory of sacrificing all she had to give, to +her love. Are there many who have felt as much, with as good reason, in +a whole lifetime?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p> + +<p>But the hour was gone, taking with it the reality and leaving in its +place a memory, fair, brilliant, and dear as the tress of golden hair +Vjera was carrying home in her parcel, but as useless perhaps and as +valueless in the world of realities as that had proved to be.</p> + +<p>They reached her door and stopped in their walk. She looked up sadly +into his eyes, as she held out her hand. He hesitated a moment, and then +threw both his arms round her and drew her to his heart and kissed her +passionately again and again. She tried to draw back.</p> + +<p>"Oh no, no!" she cried. "It cannot be so to-morrow—why should you kiss +me to-day?" But he would not let her go. She loved him, though she knew +he was mad, and she let her head fall upon his shoulder, and allowed +herself to believe in love for a moment.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she felt that he was startled by something.</p> + +<p>"Vjera!" he cried. "Have you cut off your beautiful hair? What have you +done, child? How could you do it?"</p> + +<p>"It was so heavy," she said, looking up with a bright smile. "It made my +head ache—it is best so."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> + +<p>But he was not satisfied, for he guessed something of the truth, and the +pain and horror that thrilled him told him that he had guessed rightly.</p> + +<p>"You have cut it off—and you have sold it—you have sold your hair for +me—" he stammered in a broken voice.</p> + +<p>She hung her head a little.</p> + +<p>"I always meant to cut it off. I did not care for it, you know. And +besides," she added, suddenly looking up again, "you will not love me +less, will you? They said it would grow again—you will not love me +less?"</p> + +<p>"Love you less? Ah, Vjera, that promise I may make at least—never—to +the end of ends!"</p> + +<p>"And yet," she answered, "if it should all be true—if it only +should—you could not—oh, I should not be worthy of you—you could +never marry me."</p> + +<p>The Count drew back a step and held out his right hand, with a strangely +earnest look in his weary eyes. She laid her fingers in his almost +unconsciously. Then, as though he were in a holy place, he took off his +hat, and stood bareheaded before her.</p> + +<p>"If I forsake you, Vjera," he said very solemnly, "if I forsake you +ever, in riches or in poverty, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> honour or in disrepute, may the God +of heaven forsake me in the hour of my death."</p> + +<p>He swore the great oath deliberately, in a strong, clear voice, and then +was silent for a moment, his eyes turned upwards, his attitude +unchanged. Then he raised the poor girl's thin hand to his lips and +kissed it, three times, reverently, as devout persons kiss the relics of +departed saints.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Vjera," he said, quietly. "We shall meet to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Vjera was awed by his solemn earnestness, and strongly moved by his +action.</p> + +<p>"Good-night," she answered, lovingly. "Heaven bless you and keep you +safe." She looked for a last time into his face, as though trying to +impress upon her mind the memories of that fateful evening, and then she +withdrew into the house, shutting the street door behind her.</p> + +<p>The Count stood still for several minutes, unconsciously holding his hat +in his hand. At last he covered his head and walked slowly away in the +direction of his home. By degrees his mind fell into its old groove and +he hastened his steps. From time to time, he fancied that some one was +following him at no great distance, but though he glanced quickly over +his shoulder he saw no one in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> dimly-lighted street. The door of the +house in which he lived was open, and he ran up the stairs at a great +pace, sure that by this time his friends must be waiting for him in his +room. When he reached it, all was dark and quiet. The echo of his own +footsteps seemed still to resound in the staircase as he closed his door +and struck a match. He found his small lamp in a corner, lighted it with +some difficulty, set it on the table and sat down. There, beside him, +propped up against two books, was the piece of paper on which he had +written the few words for his friends, in case they came while he was +out. He took it up, looked over it absently and began to fold it upon +itself again and again.</p> + +<p>"Dear Vjera!" he exclaimed, in a low caressing tone, as he smoothed the +folded strip between his fingers.</p> + +<p>He was thinking, and thinking connectedly, of all that had just taken +place, and wondering how it was that he had been able to accept such a +sacrifice from one so little able to sacrifice anything. It seemed as +though it should have been impossible for him to let the poor little +shell-maker take upon herself his burden, and free him of it and set him +right again in his own eyes.</p> + +<p>"I know that I love her now," he said to himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> + +<p>And he was right. There are secret humiliations to which no man would +submit, as such, but from which love, when it is real, can take away the +sting and the poison. The man of heart, who does not love but is loved +in spite of himself, fears to accept a sacrifice, lest in so doing he +should seem to declare his readiness to do as he is done by, from like +motives. But when love is on both sides there is no such drawing back +from love's responsibilities. The sacrifice is accepted not only with +gratitude, but with joy, as a debt of which the repayment by sacrifice +again constitutes in itself a happiness. And thus, perhaps, it is that +they love best who love in sorrow and in want, in worldly poverty and in +distress of soul, for they alone can know what joy it is to receive, and +what yet infinitely greater joy lies in giving all when all is sorely +needed.</p> + +<p>But as the Count dwelt on the circumstances he saw also what it was that +Vjera had done, and he wondered how she could have found the strength to +do it. He did not, indeed, say to himself that for his sake she had +parted with her only beauty, for he had never considered whether she +were good-looking or not. The bond between them was of a different +nature, and would not have been less strong had Vjera been absolutely +ugly instead of being merely,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> what is called, plain. He would have +loved her as well, had she been a cripple, or deformed, just as she +loved him in spite of his madness. But he knew well enough how women, +even the most wretched, value their hair when it is beautiful, what care +they bestow upon it and what consolation they derive from the rich, +silken coil denied to fairer women than themselves. There is something +in the thought of cutting off the heavy tress and selling it which +appeals to the pity of most people, and which, to women themselves, is +full of horror. A man might have felt the same in those days when long +locks were the distinctive outward sign of nobility in man, and perhaps +the respect of that obsolete custom has left in the minds of most people +a sort of unconscious tradition. However that may be, we all feel that +in one direction, at least, a woman's sacrifice can go no further than +in giving her head to the shears.</p> + +<p>The longer the Count thought of this, the more his gratitude increased, +and the more fully he realised at what great cost poor Vjera had saved +him from what he considered the greatest conceivable dishonour, from the +shame of breaking his word, no matter under what conditions it had been +given. He could, of course, repay her the money, so soon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> as his friends +arrived, but by no miracle whatever could he restore to her head the +only beauty it had ever possessed. He had scarcely understood this at +first, for he had been confused and shaken by the many emotions which +had in succession played upon his nervous mind and body during the past +twenty-four hours. But now he saw it all very clearly. He had taken only +money, which he would be able to restore; she had given a part of +herself, irrevocably.</p> + +<p>So deeply absorbed was he in his thoughts that the clocks struck many +successive quarters without rousing him from his reverie, or suggesting +again to him the fixed idea by which his life was governed on that day +of the week. But as midnight drew near, the prolonged striking of the +bells at every quarter at last attracted his attention. He started +suddenly and rose from his seat, trying to count the strokes, but he had +not heard the first ones and was astray in his reckoning. It was very +late, that was certain, and not many minutes could elapse before the +door would open and his friends would enter. He hastily smoothed his +hair, looked to the flame of his bright little lamp and made a trip of +inspection round the room. Everything was in order. He was almost glad +that they were to come at night, for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> the lamplight seemed to lend a +more cheerful look to the room. The Turkey-red cotton counterpane on the +bed looked particularly well, the Count thought. During the next fifteen +minutes he walked about, rubbing his hands softly together. At the first +stroke of the following quarter he stood still and listened intently.</p> + +<p>Four quarters struck, and then the big bell began to toll the hour. It +must be eleven, he thought, as he counted the strokes. +Eleven—twelve—he started, and turned very white, but listened still, +for he knew that he should hear another clock striking in a few seconds. +As the strokes followed each other, his heart beat like a +fulling-hammer, giving a succession of quick blows, and pausing to +repeat the rhythmic tattoo more loudly and painfully than before. +Ten—eleven—twelve—there was no mistake. The day was over. It was +midnight, and no one had come. The room swam with him.</p> + +<p>Then, as in a vision of horror, he saw himself standing there, as he had +stood many times before, listening for the last stroke, and suddenly +awaking from the dream to the crushing disappointment of the reality. +For one brief and terrible moment his whole memory was restored to him +and he knew that his madness was only madness, and nothing more,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> and +that it seized him in the same way, week by week, through the months and +the years, leaving him thus on the stroke of twelve each Wednesday +night, a broken, miserable, self-deceived man. As in certain dreams, we +dream that we have dreamed the same things before, so with him an +endless calendar of Wednesdays was unrolled before his inner sight, all +alike, all ending in the same terror of conscious madness.</p> + +<p>He had dreamed it all, there was no one to come to him in his distress, +no one would ever enter that lonely room to bring back to him the +treasures of a glorious past, for there was no one to come. It had all +been a dream from beginning to end and there was no reality in it.</p> + +<p>He staggered to his chair and sat down, pressing his lean hands to his +aching temples and rocking himself to and fro, his breath hissing +through his convulsively closed teeth. Still the fearful memory +remained, and it grew into a prophetic vision of the future, reflecting +what had been upon the distant scenery of what was yet to be. With that +one deadly stroke of the great church bell, all was gone—fortune, +friends, wealth, dignity. The majestic front of the palace of his hopes +was but a flimsy, painted tissue. The fire that ran through his +tortured<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> brain consumed the gaudy, artificial thing in the flash and +rush of a single flame, and left behind only the charred skeleton +framework, which had supported the vast canvas. And then, he saw it +again and again looming suddenly out of the darkness, brightening into +beauty and the semblance of strength, to be as suddenly destroyed once +more. With each frantic beat of his heart the awful transformation was +renewed. For dreams need not time to spin out their intolerable length. +With each burning throb of his raging blood, every nerve in his body, +every aching recess of his brain, was pierced and twisted, and pierced +again with unceasing agony.</p> + +<p>Then a new horror was added to the rest. He saw before him the poor +Polish girl, her only beauty shorn away for his sake, he saw all that he +had promised in return, and he knew that he had nothing to give her, +nothing, absolutely, save the crazy love of a wretched madman. He could +not even repay her the miserable money which had cost her so dear. Out +of his dreams of fortune there was not so much as a handful of coin left +to give the girl who had given all she had, who had sold her hair to +save his honour. With frightful vividness the truth came over him. That +honour of his, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> had pledged it in the recklessness of his madness. +She had saved it out of love, and he had not even—but no—there was a +new memory there—love he had for her, passionate, tender, true, a love +that had not its place among the terrors of the past. But—was not this +a new dream, a new delusion of his shaken brain? And if he loved her, +was it not yet more terrible to have deceived the loved one, more +monstrous, more infamous, more utterly damnable? The figure of her rose +before him, pitiful, thin, weak, with outstretched hands and trusting +eyes—and he had taken of her all she had. Neither heart, nor body, nor +brain could bear more.</p> + +<p>"Vjera! God! Forgive me!" With the cry of a breaking heart the poor +Count fell forward from his seat and lay in a heap, motionless upon the +floor.</p> + +<p>Only his stiffening fingers, crooked and contorted, worked nervously for +a few minutes, scratching at the rough boards. Then all was quite still +in the little room.</p> + +<p>There was a noise outside, and some one opened the door. The Cossack +stood upon the threshold, holding his hand up against the lamp, for he +was dazzled as he entered from the outer darkness of the stairs. He +looked about, and at first saw nothing, for the Count had fallen in the +shadow of the table.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then, seeing where he lay, Johann Schmidt came forward and knelt down, +and with some difficulty turned his friend upon his back.</p> + +<p>"Dead—poor Count!" he exclaimed in a low voice, bending down over the +ghastly face.</p> + +<p>The pale eyes were turned upward and inward, and the forehead was damp. +Schmidt unbuttoned the threadbare coat from the breast. There was no +waistcoat under it—nothing but a patched flannel shirt. A quantity of +papers were folded neatly in a flat package in the inner pocket. Schmidt +put down his head and listened for the beatings of the heart.</p> + +<p>"So it is over!" he said mournfully, as he straightened himself upon his +knees. Then he took one of the extended hands in his, and pressed it, +and looked into the poor man's face, and felt the tears coming into his +eyes.</p> + +<p>"You were a good man," he said in sorrowful tones, "and a brave man in +your way, and a true gentleman—and—I suppose it was not your fault if +you were mad. Heaven give you peace and rest!"</p> + +<p>He rose to his feet, debating what he should do.</p> + +<p>"Poor Vjera!" he sighed. "Poor Vjera—she will go next!"</p> + +<p>Once more, he looked down, and his eye caught<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> sight of the papers +projecting from the inner pocket of the coat, which was still open and +thrown back upon the floor. It has been noticed more than once that +Johann Schmidt was a man subject to attacks of quite irresistible +curiosity. He hesitated a moment, and then came to the conclusion that +he was as much entitled as any one else to be the Count's executor.</p> + +<p>"It cannot harm him now," he said, as he extracted the bundle from its +place.</p> + +<p>One of the letters was quite fresh. The rest were evidently very old, +being yellow with age and ragged at the edges. He turned over the +former. It was addressed to Count Skariatine, at his lodging, and it +bore the postmark of a town in Great-Russia, between Petersburg and +Moscow. Schmidt took out the sheet, and his face suddenly grew very dark +and angry. The handwriting was either in reality Akulina's, or it +resembled it so closely as to have deceived a better expert than the +Cossack.</p> + +<p>The missive purported to be written by the wife of Count Skariatine's +steward, and it set forth in rather servile and illiterate language that +the said Count Skariatine and his eldest son were both dead, having been +seized on the same day with the smallpox,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> of which there had been an +epidemic in the neighbourhood, but which was supposed to have quite +disappeared when they fell ill. A week later and within twenty-four +hours of each other they had breathed their last. The Count Boris +Michaelovitch was now the heir, and would do well to come home as soon +as possible to look after his possessions, as the local authorities were +likely to make a good thing out of it in his absence.</p> + +<p>The Cossack swore a terrific oath, and stamped furiously on the floor as +he rose to his feet. It was evident to him that Akulina had out of spite +concocted the letter, and had managed to have it posted by some friend +in Russia. He was not satisfied with one expletive, nor with many. The +words he used need not be translated for the reader of the English +language. It is enough to say that they were the strongest in the +Cossack vocabulary, that they were well selected and applied with force +and precision.</p> + +<p>Johann Schmidt was exceedingly wroth with the tobacconist's wife, for it +was clear that she had caused the Count's untimely death by her +abominable practical joke. He went and leaned out of the window, +churning and gnashing the fantastic expressions of his rage through his +teeth.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p> + +<p>Suddenly there was a noise in the room, a distinct, loud noise, as of +shuffling with hands and feet. The Cossack's nerves were proof against +ghostly terrors, but as he turned round he felt that his hair was +standing erect upon his head.</p> + +<p>The Count was on his feet and was looking at him.</p> + + + + +<hr class="major" /> +<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="r5556" id="r5556"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> +</div> + +<p>"I thought you were dead!" gasped the Cossack in dismay.</p> + +<p>There was no answer. The Count did not appear to hear Schmidt's voice +nor to see his figure. He acted like a man walking in his sleep, and it +was by no means certain to the friend who watched him that his eyes were +always open. As though nothing unusual had happened, the Count calmly +undressed himself and got into bed. Three minutes later he was sound +asleep and breathing regularly.</p> + +<p>For a long time Johann Schmidt stood transfixed with wonder in his place +at the open window. At last it dawned upon him that his friend had not +been really dead, but had fallen into some sort of fit in the course of +his lonely meditations, from which he had been awakened by the Cossack's +terrific swearing. Why the latter had seemed to be invisible and +inaudible to him, was a matter which Schmidt did not attempt to solve. +It was clear that the Count was alive, and sleeping like other people. +Schmidt hesitated some time as to what he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> should do. It was possible +that his friend might wake again, and find himself desperately ill. He +had been so evidently unlike himself, that Schmidt had feared he would +become a raving maniac in the night, and had entered the house at his +heels, seating himself upon the stairs just outside the door to wait for +events, with the odd fidelity and forethought characteristic of him. The +Count's cry had warned him that all was not right and he had entered the +room, as has been seen.</p> + +<p>He determined to wait some time longer, to see whether anything would +happen. Meanwhile, he thrust Akulina's letter into his pocket, +reflecting that as it was a forgery it would be best that the Count +should not have it, lest he should be again misled by the contents. He +sat down and waited.</p> + +<p>Nothing happened. The clocks chimed the quarters up to one in the +morning, a quarter-past, half-past—Schmidt was growing sleepy. The +Count breathed regularly and lay in his bed without moving. Then, at +last, the Cossack rose, looked at his friend once more, blew out the +lamp, felt his way to the door and left the room. As he walked home +through the quiet streets he swore that he would take vengeance upon +Akulina, by producing the letter and reading it in her husband's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> +presence, and before the assembled establishment, before the Count made +his appearance. It was indeed not probable that he would come at all, +considering all that he had suffered, though Schmidt knew that he +generally came on Thursday morning, evidently weary and exhausted, but +unconscious of the delusion which had possessed him during the previous +day. Possibly, he was subject to a similar fit every Wednesday night, +and had kept the fact a secret. Schmidt had always wondered what +happened to him at the moment when he suddenly forgot his imaginary +fortune and returned to his everyday senses.</p> + +<p>The morning dawned at last, and it was Thursday. As there was no +necessity for liberating the Count from arrest to-day, Akulina roused +her husband with the lark, gave him his coffee promptly and sent him off +to open the shop and catch the early customer. Before the shutters had +been up more than a quarter of an hour, and while Fischelowitz was still +sniffing the fresh morning air, Johann Schmidt appeared. His step was +brisk, his brow was dark and his boots creaked ominously. With a very +brief salutation he passed into the back shop, slipped off his coat and +set to work with the determination of a man who feels that he must do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +something active as a momentary relief to his feelings.</p> + +<p>Next came Vjera, paler than ever, with great black rings under her tired +eyes, broken with the fatigues and anxieties of the previous day, but +determined to double her work, if that were possible, in order to make +up for the money she had borrowed of Schmidt and, through him, of +Dumnoff. As she dropped her shawl, Fischelowitz caught sight of the back +of her head, and broke into a laugh.</p> + +<p>"Why, Vjera!" he cried. "What have you done? You have made yourself look +perfectly ridiculous!"</p> + +<p>The poor girl turned scarlet, and busied herself at her table without +answering. Her fingers trembled as she tried to handle her glass tube. +The Cossack, whose anger had not been diluted by being left to boil all +night, dropped his swivel knife and went up to Fischelowitz with a look +in his face so extremely disagreeable that the tobacconist drew back a +little, not knowing what to expect.</p> + +<p>"I will tell you something," said Schmidt, savagely. "You will have to +change your manners if you expect any of us to work for you."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" stammered Fischelowitz, in whom nature had omitted +to implant the gift of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> physical courage, except in such measure as +saved him from the humiliation of being afraid of his wife.</p> + +<p>"I mean what I say," answered the Cossack. "And if there is anything I +hate, it is to repeat what I have said before hitting a man." His fists +were clenched already, and one of them looked as though it were on the +point of making a very emphatic gesture. Fischelowitz retired backwards +into the front shop, while Vjera looked on from within, now pale again +and badly frightened.</p> + +<p>"Herr Schmidt! Herr Schmidt! Please, please be quiet! It does not +matter!" she cried.</p> + +<p>"Then what does matter?" inquired the Cossack over his shoulders, "If +Vjera has cut off her hair," he said, turning again to Fischelowitz, +"she has had a good reason for it. It is none of your business, nor mine +either."</p> + +<p>So saying he was about to go back to his work again.</p> + +<p>"Upon my word!" exclaimed the tobacconist. "Upon my word! I do not +understand what has got into the fellow."</p> + +<p>"You do not understand?" cried Schmidt, facing him again. "I mean that +if you laugh at Vjera I will break most of your bones."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p> + +<p>At that moment Akulina's stout figure appeared, entering from the +street. The Cossack stood still, glaring at her, his face growing white +and contracted with anger. He was becoming dangerous, as good-tempered +men will, when roused, especially when they have been brought up among +people who, as a tribe, would rather fight than eat, at any time of day, +from pure love of the thing. Even Akulina, who was not timid, hesitated +as she stood on the threshold.</p> + +<p>"What has happened?" she inquired, looking from Schmidt to her husband.</p> + +<p>The latter came to her side, if not for protection, as might be +maliciously supposed, at least for company.</p> + +<p>"I cannot understand at all," said Fischelowitz, still edging away.</p> + +<p>"You understand well enough, I think, and as for you, Frau Fischelowitz, +I have something to talk of with you, too. But we will put it off until +later," he added, as though suddenly changing his mind.</p> + +<p>The Count himself had appeared in the doorway behind Akulina. Both she +and her husband stood aside, looking at him curiously.</p> + +<p>"Good-morning," he said, gravely taking off his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> hat and inclining his +head a little. He acted as though quite unconscious of what had happened +on the previous day, and they watched him as he quietly went into the +room beyond, into which the Cossack had retired on seeing him enter.</p> + +<p>He hung up his hat in its usual place, nodding to Schmidt, who was +opposite to him. Then, as he turned, he met Vjera's eyes. It was a +supreme moment for her, poor child. Would he remember anything of what +had passed on the previous day? Or had he forgotten all, his debt, her +saving of him and the sacrifice she had made? He looked at her so long +and so steadily that she grew frightened. Then all at once he came close +to her, and took her hand and kissed it as he had done when they had +last parted, careless of Schmidt's presence.</p> + +<p>"I have not forgotten, dear Vjera," he whispered in her ear.</p> + +<p>Schmidt passed them quickly and again went out, whether from a sense of +delicacy, or because he saw an opportunity of renewing the fight +outside, is not certain. He closed the door of communication behind him.</p> + +<p>Vjera looked up into the Count's eyes and the blush that rarely came, +the blush of true happiness, mounted to her face.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I have not forgotten, dearest," he said again. "There is a veil over +yesterday—I think I must have been ill—but I know what you did for me +and—and—" he hesitated as though seeking an expression.</p> + +<p>For a few seconds again the poor girl felt the agony of suspense she +knew so well.</p> + +<p>"I do not know what right a man so poor as I has to say such a thing, +Vjera," he continued. "But I love you, dear, and if you will take me, I +will love you all my life, more and more. Will it be harder to be poor +together than each for ourselves, alone?"</p> + +<p>Vjera let her head fall upon his shoulder, happy at last. What did his +madness matter now, since the one memory she craved had survived its +destroying influence? He had forgotten his glorious hopes, his imaginary +wealth, his expected friends, but he had not forgotten her, nor his love +for her.</p> + +<p>"Thank God!" she sighed, and the happy tears fell from her eyes upon the +breast of his threadbare coat.</p> + +<p>"But we must not forget to work, dear," she said, a few moments later.</p> + +<p>"No," he answered. "We must not forget to work."</p> + +<p>As she sat down to her table he pushed her chair back for her, and put +into her hands her little glass<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> tube, and then he went and took his own +place opposite. For a long time they were left alone, but neither of +them seemed to wonder at it, nor to hear the low, excited tones of many +voices talking rapidly and often together in the shop outside. Whenever +their eyes met, they both smiled, while their fingers did the accustomed +mechanical work.</p> + +<p>When Schmidt entered the outer shop for the second time, he found the +tobacconist and his wife conversing in low tones together, in evident +fear of being overheard. He came and stood before them, lowering his +voice to the pitch of theirs, as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"It is no fault of yours that the Count was not found dead in his bed +this morning," he began, fixing his fiery eyes on Akulina.</p> + +<p>"What? What? What is this?" asked Fischelowitz excitedly.</p> + +<p>"Only this," said the Cossack, displaying the letter he had brought from +the Count's rooms. "Nothing more. Your wife has succeeded very well. He +is quite mad now. I found him last night, helpless, in a sort of fit, +stiff and stark on the floor of his room. And this was in his pocket. +Read it, Herr Fischelowitz. Read it, by all means. I suppose your wife +does not mind your reading the letters she writes."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> + +<p>Fischelowitz took the letter stupidly, turned it over, saw the address, +and took out the folded sheet. Akulina's face expressed a blank +amazement almost comical in its vacuity. For once, she was taken off her +guard. Her husband read the letter over twice and examined the +handwriting curiously.</p> + +<p>"A joke is a joke, Akulina," he said at last. "But you have carried this +too far. What if the Count had died?"</p> + +<p>"I would like to know what I am accused of," said Akulina, "and what all +this is about."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you know your own handwriting," observed the Cossack, taking +the letter from the tobacconist's hands and holding it before her eyes. +"And if that is not enough to drive the poor man to the madhouse I do +not know what is. Perhaps you have forgotten all about it? Perhaps you +are mad, too?"</p> + +<p>Akulina read the writing in her turn. Then she grew very angry.</p> + +<p>"It is an abominable lie!" she exclaimed. "I never had anything to do +with it. I do not know whence this letter comes, and I do not care. I +know nothing about it."</p> + +<p>"I suppose no one can prevent your saying so, at least," retorted the +Cossack.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is very queer," observed Fischelowitz, suddenly thrusting his hands +into his pockets and beginning to whistle softly as he looked through +the shop window.</p> + +<p>"When I tell you that it is not my handwriting, you ought to be +satisfied—" Akulina began.</p> + +<p>"And yet none of us are," interrupted the Cossack with a laugh. +"Strange, is it not?"</p> + +<p>Dumnoff now came in, and a moment later the insignificant girl, who +began to giggle foolishly as soon as she saw that something was +happening which she could not understand.</p> + +<p>"None of us are satisfied," continued Johann Schmidt, taking the letter +from Akulina. "Here, Dumnoff, here Anna Nicolaevna, is this the +Chosjaika's handwriting or not? Let everybody see and judge."</p> + +<p>"It is outrageous!" exclaimed Akulina, trying to get possession of the +letter again.</p> + +<p>"You see how she tries to get it," laughed the Cossack, savagely. "She +would be glad to tear it to pieces—of course she would."</p> + +<p>"I wish you would all go about your business," said Fischelowitz with an +approach to asperity.</p> + +<p>Akulina was furious, but she did not know what to do. Everybody began +talking together.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Of course it is the Barina's handwriting," said Dumnoff confidently. He +supposed it was always safe to follow Schmidt's lead, when he followed +any one.</p> + +<p>"Of course it is," chimed in the insignificant Anna.</p> + +<p>"You—you minx—you flatter-cat, you little serpent!" cried Akulina, +speaking three languages at once in her excitement. "Go—get along—go +to your work—"</p> + +<p>"No, no, stay!" exclaimed the Cossack authoritatively. "Do you know what +this is?" he asked of all present again. "Our good mistress, here, has +for some reason or other been trying to make the Count worse by having +sham letters posted to him from home—"</p> + +<p>"It is a lie! A base, abominable lie! Turn the man out, Christian +Gregorovitch! Turn him out, or send for the police."</p> + +<p>"Turn him out yourself," answered the tobacconist phlegmatically.</p> + +<p>"Posted to him from home," continued the Cossack, "and telling him that +his father and brother are dead and that he has come into property and +the like. What do you think of that?"</p> + +<p>"It is a shame," growled Dumnoff, beginning to understand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> + +<p>The girl laughed foolishly.</p> + +<p>"I swear to you," began Akulina, crimson with anger. "I swear to you by +all—"</p> + +<p>"Customers, customers!" exclaimed Fischelowitz in a stage whisper. +"Quiet, I tell you!" He made a rush for the other side of the counter, +and briskly assumed his professional smile. The others fell back into +the corners.</p> + +<p>Two gentlemen in black entered the shop. The one was a stout, +angry-looking person of middle age, very dark, and very full about the +lower part of the face, which was not concealed by the closely cut black +beard. His companion was a diminutive little man, very thin and very +spruce, not less than fifty years old. His face was entirely shaved and +was deeply marked with lines and furrows. A pair of piercing grey eyes +looked through big gold-rimmed spectacles. As he took off his hat, a few +thin, sandy-coloured locks fluttered a little and then settled +themselves upon the smooth surface of his cranium, like autumn leaves +falling upon a marble statue in a garden.</p> + +<p>"Herr Fischelowitz?" inquired the larger of the two customers, touching +his hat but not removing it.</p> + +<p>"At your service," answered the tobacconist.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> "Cigarettes?" he inquired. +"Strong? Light? Kir, Samson, Dubec?"</p> + +<p>"I am the new Russian Consul," said the stranger. "This gentleman is +just arrived from Petersburg and has business with you."</p> + +<p>"My name is Konstantin Grabofsky, and I am a lawyer," observed the +little man very sharply.</p> + +<p>Fischelowitz bowed till his nose almost came into collision with the +counter. The others in the shop held their peace and opened their eyes.</p> + +<p>"And I am told that Count Boris Michaelovitch Skariatine is here," +continued the lawyer.</p> + +<p>"Oh—the mad Count!" exclaimed Akulina with an angry laugh, and coming +forward. "Yes, we can tell you all about him."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry," said Grabofsky, "to hear you call him mad, since my +business is with him, Barina, and not with you." His tone was, if +possible, more incisive than before.</p> + +<p>"Of course, we know that he is not a Count at all," said Akulina, +somewhat annoyed by his sharpness.</p> + +<p>"Do you? Then you are singularly mistaken. I shall be obliged if you +will inform Count Skariatine that Konstantin Grabofsky desires the +honour of an interview with him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Go and call him, Akulina," said Fischelowitz, "since the gentleman +wishes to see him."</p> + +<p>"Go yourself," retorted his wife.</p> + +<p>"Go together, and be quick about it!" said the Consul, who was tired of +waiting.</p> + +<p>"And please to say that I wait his convenience," added the lawyer.</p> + +<p>Dumnoff moved to Schmidt's side and whispered into his ear.</p> + +<p>"Do you think they have come about the Gigerl?" he inquired anxiously. +"Do you think they will arrest us again?"</p> + +<p>"Durak!" laughed the Cossack. "How can two Russian gentlemen arrest you +in Munich? This is something connected with the Count's friends. It is +my belief that they have come at last. See—here he is."</p> + +<p>The Count now entered from the back shop, calm and collected, as though +not expecting anything extraordinary. The Russian Consul took off his +hat and bowed with great politeness and the Count returned the +salutation with equal civility. Fischelowitz and Akulina stood in the +background anxiously watching events.</p> + +<p>The lawyer also bowed and then, turning his face to the light, held his +hand out.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You have not forgotten me, Count Skariatine?" he said, in a tone of +inquiry.</p> + +<p>The Count stared hard at him as he took the proffered hand. Gradually, +his face underwent a change. His forehead contracted, his eyes closed a +little, his eyebrows rose, and an expression of quiet disdain settled +about the lines of his mouth.</p> + +<p>"I know you very well," he answered. "You are Doctor Konstantin +Grabofsky, my father's lawyer. Do you come from him to renew the offer +you made when we parted?"</p> + +<p>"I have no offer to make," said the little man. "Will you do me the +honour to indicate some place where we may be alone together for a +moment?"</p> + +<p>"I have no objection to that," replied the Count. "We can go into the +street."</p> + +<p>They passed out together, leaving the establishment of Christian +Fischelowitz in a condition of great astonishment. The tobacconist +hastily produced his best cigarettes and entreated the Consul to try +one, making signs to the other occupants of the shop to return to their +occupations in the inner room.</p> + +<p>"How long have you known Count Skariatine?" inquired the Consul, +carelessly, when he was alone with Fischelowitz.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Six or seven years," answered the latter.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you know his story? Your wife was good enough to inform us of +that fact, though Doctor Grabofsky has reason to doubt the value of her +information."</p> + +<p>"We only know that he calls himself a Count." Fischelowitz held the +authorities of his native country in holy awe, and was almost frightened +out of his senses at being thus questioned by the Consul.</p> + +<p>"He is quite at liberty to do so," answered the latter with a laugh. +"The story is simple enough," he continued, "and there is no reason why +you should not know it. The late Count Skariatine had two sons, of whom +the present Count was the younger. Ten years ago, when barely twenty, he +quarrelled with his father and elder brother, and they parted in anger. +I must say that he seems to have acted hastily, though the old +gentleman's views of life were eccentric, to say the least of it. For +some reason or other, the elder brother never married. I have heard it +said that he was crippled in childhood. Be that as it may, he was +vindictive and spiteful by nature, and prevented the quarrel from being +forgotten. The younger brother left the house with the clothes on his +back, and steadily refused to accept the small allowance offered him,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> +and which was his by right. And now the father and the eldest son are +dead—they died suddenly of the smallpox—and Doctor Grabofsky has come +to inform the Count that he is the heir. There you have the story in a +nutshell."</p> + +<p>"Then it is all true, after all!" cried Fischelowitz. "We all thought—"</p> + +<p>"Thinking, when one knows nothing, is a dangerous and useless pastime," +observed the Consul. "I will take a box of these cigarettes with me. +They are good."</p> + +<p>"Thank you most obediently, Milostivy Gosudar!" exclaimed Fischelowitz, +bowing low. "I trust that the Gospodin Consul will honour me with his +patronage. I have a great variety of tobaccos, Kir, Basma, Samson, Dubec +Imperial, Swary—"</p> + +<p>While Fischelowitz was recommending the productions of his Celebrated +Manufactory to the Consul, Grabofsky and the Count were walking together +up and down the smooth pavement outside.</p> + +<p>"A great change has taken place in your family," Grabofsky was saying. +"Had anything less extraordinary occurred, I should have written to you +instead of coming in person. Your brother is dead, Count Skariatine."</p> + +<p>"Dead!" exclaimed the Count, who had no recollection<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> of the letter +abstracted from his pocket by the Cossack. It had reached him after the +weekly attack had begun, and the memory of it was gone with that of so +many other occurrences.</p> + +<p>"Dead," repeated the lawyer sharply, as though he would have made a nail +of the word to drive it into the coffin.</p> + +<p>"And how many children has he left?" inquired the Count.</p> + +<p>"He died unmarried."</p> + +<p>"So that I—"</p> + +<p>"You are the lawful heir."</p> + +<p>"Unless my father marries again." The colour rose in the Count's lean +cheeks.</p> + +<p>"That is impossible."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because he is dead, too."</p> + +<p>"Then—"</p> + +<p>"You are Count Skariatine, and I have the honour to offer you my +services at this important juncture."</p> + +<p>The Count breathed hard. The shock, overtaking him when he was in his +normal condition, was tremendous. The colour came and went rapidly in +his features, and he caught his breath, leaning heavily upon the little +lawyer, who watched his face with some anxiety. Akulina's remark about +the Count's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> madness had made him more careful than he would otherwise +have been in his manner of breaking the news.</p> + +<p>"I am not well," said the Count in a low voice. "To-day is Wednesday—I +am never well on Wednesdays."</p> + +<p>"To-day is Thursday," answered Grabofsky.</p> + +<p>"Thursday? Thursday—" the Count reeled, and would have fallen, but for +the support of the nervous little man's wiry arm.</p> + +<p>Then, in the space of a second, took place that strange phenomenon of +the intelligence which is as yet so imperfectly understood. It is called +the "Transfer" in the jargon of the half-developed science which deals +with suggestion and the like. Its effects are strange, sudden and +complete, often observed, never understood, but chronicled in hundreds +of cases and analysed in every seat of physiological learning in Europe. +In the twinkling of an eye, a part or the whole of the intelligence, or +of the sensations, is reversed in action, and this with a logical +precision of which no description can give any idea. It is universally +considered as the first step in the direction of recovery.</p> + +<p>The action of the Count's mind was "transferred," therefore, since the +word is consecrated by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> usage. Fortunately for him, the transfer +coincided with a material change in his fortunes. Had this not been the +case it would have had the effect of making him mad through the whole +week, and sane only from Tuesday evening until the midnight of +Wednesday. As it was, the result was of a contrary nature. Being now in +reality restored to wealth and dignity, he was able to understand and +appreciate the reality during six days, becoming again, in imagination, +a cigarette-maker upon the seventh, a harmless delusion which already +shows signs of disappearing, and from which the principal authorities +confidently assert that he will soon be quite free.</p> + +<p>He passed but one moment in a state of semi-consciousness. Then he +raised his head, and stood erect, and to the great surprise of +Grabofsky, showed no further surprise at the news he had just received.</p> + +<p>"The fact is," he said, quietly, "I was expecting you yesterday. I had +received a letter from the wife of the steward informing me of the death +of my father and brother. I think your coming to-day must have disturbed +me, as I have some difficulty in recalling the circumstances which +attended our meeting here."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A passing indisposition," suggested Grabofsky. "Nothing more. The +weather is warm, sultry in fact."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it must have been that. And now, we had better communicate the +state of things to Herr Fischelowitz, to whom I consider myself much +indebted."</p> + +<p>"Our Consul came with me," said the lawyer. "He is in the shop. Perhaps +you did not notice him."</p> + +<p>"No—I do not think I did. I am afraid he thought me very careless."</p> + +<p>"Not at all, not at all." Grabofsky began to think that there had been +some truth in Akulina's remarks after all, but he kept his opinion to +himself, then and afterwards, a course which was justified by subsequent +events. He and the Count turned towards the shop, and, entering, found +Fischelowitz and the Consul conversing together.</p> + +<p>The Count bowed to the latter with much ceremony.</p> + +<p>"I fear," he said, "that you must have thought me careless just now. The +suddenness of the news I have received has affected me. Pray accept my +best thanks for your kindness in accompanying Doctor Grabofsky this +morning."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do not mention it, Count. I am only too glad to be of service."</p> + +<p>"You are very kind. And now, Herr Fischelowitz," he continued, turning +to the tobacconist, "it is my pleasant duty to thank you also. I looked +for these gentlemen yesterday. They have arrived to-day. The change +which I expected would take place has come, and I am about to return to +my home. The memories of poverty and exile can never be pleasant, but I +do not think that I have any just reason to complain. Will it please +you, Herr Fischelowitz, and you, gentlemen, to go into the next room +with me? I wish to take my leave of those who have so long been my +companions."</p> + +<p>Fischelowitz opened the door of communication and held it back +respectfully for the Count to pass. His ideas were exceedingly confused, +but his instinct told him to make all atonement in his power for his +wife's outbursts of temper. The Count entered first, and the other three +followed him, Grabofsky, the Consul, and Fischelowitz. The little back +shop was very full. To judge from the last accents of Akulina's voice +she had been repaying Johann Schmidt with compound interest, now that +the right was on her side, for the manner in which he had attacked her. +As the Count entered, however,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> all held their peace, and he began to +speak in the midst of total silence. He stood by the little black table +upon which his lean, stained fingers had manufactured so many hundreds +of thousands of cigarettes.</p> + +<p>"Herr Fischelowitz," he began, "I am here to say good-bye to you, to +your good wife, and to my companions. During a number of years you have +afforded me the opportunity of earning an honest living, and I have to +thank you very heartily for the forbearance you have shown me. It is not +your fault if your consideration for me has sometimes taken a passive +rather than an active form. It was not your business to fight my +battles. Give me your hand, Herr Fischelowitz. We part, as we have +lived, good friends. I wish you all possible success."</p> + +<p>The tobacconist bowed low as he respectfully shook hands.</p> + +<p>"Too much honour," he said.</p> + +<p>"Frau Fischelowitz," continued the Count, "you have acted according to +your lights and your beliefs. I bear you no ill-will. I only hope that +if any other poor gentleman should ever take my place you will not make +his position harder than it would naturally be, and I trust that all may +be well with you."</p> + +<p>"I never meant it, Herr Graf," said Akulina, awkwardly, as she took his +proffered hand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> + +<p>He turned to the Cossack.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Johann Schmidt, good-bye. I shall see you again, before long. +We have always helped each other, my friend. I have much to thank you +for."</p> + +<p>"You have helped me, you mean," said the Cossack, in a rather shaky +voice.</p> + +<p>"No, no—each other, and we will continue to do so, I hope, in a +different way. Good-bye, Dumnoff. You have a better heart than people +think."</p> + +<p>"Are you not going to take me to Russia, after all?" asked the mujik, +almost humbly.</p> + +<p>"Did I say I would? Then you shall go. But not as coachman, Dumnoff. Not +as coachman, I think. Good-bye, Anna Nicolaevna," he said, turning to +the insignificant girl, who was at last too much awed to giggle.</p> + +<p>Then he came to Vjera's place. The girl was leaning forward, hiding her +face in her hands, and resting her small, pointed elbows on the table.</p> + +<p>"Vjera, dear," he said, bending down to her, "will you come with me, +now?"</p> + +<p>She looked up, suddenly, and her face was very white and drawn, and wet +with tears.</p> + +<p>"Oh no, no!" she said in a low voice. "How can I ever be worthy of you, +since it is really true?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> + +<p>But the Count put his arm round the poor little shell-maker's waist, and +made her stand beside him in the midst of them all.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," he said, in his calmly dignified manner, "let me present to +you the Countess Skariatine. She will bear that name to-morrow. I owe +you a confession before leaving you, in her honour and to my +humiliation. I had contracted a debt of honour, and I had nothing +wherewith to pay it. There was but an hour left—an hour, and then my +life and my honour would have been gone together."</p> + +<p>Vjera looked up into his face with a pitiful entreaty, but he would go +on.</p> + +<p>"She saved me, gentlemen," he continued. "She cut off her beautiful hair +from her head, and sold it for me. But that is not the reason why she is +to be my wife. There is a better reason than that. I love her, +gentlemen, with all my heart and soul, and she has told me that she +loves me."</p> + +<p>He felt her weight upon him, and, looking down, he saw that she had +fainted in his arms, with a look of joy upon her poor wan face which +none there had ever seen in the face of man or woman.</p> + +<p>And so love conquered.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap"><br/>The End.<br/><br/></span></p> + +<hr class='full' /> + +<p style='text-align:center'> +<span style="font-size:80%">MR. CRAWFORD'S LAST NOVEL.</span><br/> +<span style="font-size:120%">KATHARINE LAUDERDALE.</span><br/> +<span style="font-size:80%">TWO VOLUMES. CLOTH. $2.00.</span><br/> +<span style="font-size:80%">The first of a series of novels dealing with New York life.</span></p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p style='text-align:center'>PRESS COMMENTS.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Mr. Crawford at his best is a great novelist, and in <i>Katharine +Lauderdale</i> we have him at his best."—<i>Boston Daily Advertiser.</i></p> + +<p>"A most admirable novel, excellent in style, flashing with humor, +and full of the ripest and wisest reflections upon men and +women."—<i>The Westminster Gazette.</i></p> + +<p>"It is the first time, we think, in American fiction that any such +breadth of view has shown itself in the study of our social +framework."—<i>Life.</i></p> + +<p>"Admirable in its simple pathos, its enforced humor, and, above +all, in its truths to human nature.... There is not a tedious page +or paragraph in it."—<i>Punch.</i></p> + +<p>"It need scarcely be said that the story is skilfully and +picturesquely written, portraying sharply individual characters in +well-defined surroundings."—<i>New York Commercial Advertiser.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>Katharine Lauderdale</i> is a tale of New York, and is up to the +highest level of his work. In some respects it will probably be +regarded as his best. None of his works, with the exception of <i>Mr. +Isaacs</i>, show so clearly his skill as a literary artist."—<i>San +Francisco Evening Bulletin.</i></p> + +<p>"The book shows the inventive power, the ingenuity of plot, the +subtle analysis of character, the skilfulness in presenting +shifting scenes, the patient working-out of details, the aptitude +of deduction, and vividness of description which characterize the +Saracinesca romances."—<i>New York Home Journal.</i></p> + +<p>"Nowhere has the author shown more admirable understanding and +command of the novel-writer's art.... Whoever wants an original and +fascinating book can be commended to this one."—<i>Philadelphia +Evening Telegraph.</i></p></div> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p style='text-align:center'> +<i>IN PRESS.</i><br /> +A Sequel to "KATHARINE LAUDERDALE,"<br /> +THE RALSTONS.</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> +<p style='text-align:center'>MACMILLAN & CO.,<br /> +66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. +</p> + +<hr class='full' /> +<p style='text-align:center'>UNIFORM EDITION OF<br /> +F. MARION CRAWFORD'S NOVELS.<br /> +12mo, Cloth. Price, ONE DOLLAR EACH.<br /> +</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<table> + <tr> + <td align='left'> +MARION DARCHE.<br /> +<br /> +A STORY WITHOUT COMMENT.<br /> +<br /> +PIETRO GHISLERI.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">CHILDREN OF THE KING.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">DON ORSINO. A Sequel to "Saracinesca" and "Sant' Ilario."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE THREE FATES.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">THE WITCH OF PRAGUE.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">KHALED.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">A CIGARETTE-MAKER'S ROMANCE.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">SANT' ILARIO. A Sequel to "Saracinesca."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">GREIFENSTEIN.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">WITH THE IMMORTALS.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">TO LEEWARD.</span><br /> +A ROMAN SINGER.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">AN AMERICAN POLITICIAN.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">PAUL PATOFF.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">MARZIO'S CRUCIFIX.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">SARACINESCA.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">ZOROASTER.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">DR. CLAUDIUS.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">MR. ISAACS.</span> +</td> +<td valign='top'> +<div class='figright' style='width: 120px;'> +<img src='images/illus-295.png' alt='' title='' /> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr class='minor' /> +<p style='text-align:center'>MACMILLAN & CO., PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK.</p> +<hr class='full' /> +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes</h3> +<p>1. Punctuation has been normalized to contemporary standards.</p> +<p>2. Typographic errors corrected in original:<br/> + p. 30 hear to heard ("heard the chink")<br/> + p. 129 Schimdt to Schmidt ("cried Schmidt in a tone of decision")<br/> + p. 243 Fischelowizt to Fischelowitz ("Herr Fischelowitz")</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Cigarette-Maker's Romance, by F. 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