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Updated: May 12, 2025
"See here, Braun," he huskily said, a mean suspicion seizing upon him, "You're not cutting stick for good! You're not going to 'blow on me' and 'give me away! By God! I believe it," he said in fright, as he noted Braun's pale face. "It's two months since I've seen Irma Gluyas. Damn you! You've sent her over to the other side, and got all your papers safe! You've turned revenue spy!
For he always kept in hand one day's stealings so that, if suddenly "called down," he could glibly explain, "Slipped it in my pocket in my hurry! The shop was full!" While Timmins, returning from his breakfast on this busy Monday, wondered at Mr. Fritz Braun delaying his comfortable luncheon, Mr. Adolph Lilienthal was anxiously awaiting his secret partner in villainy at the "Newport Art Gallery."
He was a constant courtier of the Countess Braun, the reigning beauty, and everyone believed his love had been crowned with success, though no one could assert as much positively. There was a great review held at a distance of twelve or fourteen versts from St. Petersburg, at which the empress and all her train of courtiers were present.
A smell of wet earth came up through the open window. Braun was bending over him. "Forgive me," murmured Christophe, trying to get up. "He is dying of hunger!" cried Braun. The woman went out and returned with a cup and gave him to drink. Braun held his head.
Braun looked at her with pallid scorn: "You little, ignorant fool," he said, "I’d have made you a better lover than you’ll ever have now!" He shrugged his square shoulders in contempt, turned without a glance at Smith and Glenn, and stepped outward into space.
The nearer they came to the town the more he saw Anna's face grow cold, and life die down in her, and all her beautiful body with its savage grace drop back into its casing of stone. She did not make use of the hand he held out to her as she stepped out of the carriage. They returned home in silence. A few days later, about four o'clock in the evening, they were alone together. Braun had gone out.
"Then I can't take it. I have no money. Oh, my beautiful, bright gold " "But would you take the bath if I pay for it?" "Do you mean for Franz and Paul, too?" "Yes, for all three." "Franz, do you and Paul take the bath, and Uncle Braun can give me the eight cents, which is just the same to him as if I took the bath." "Oh, Fritz, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!" exclaimed Paul.
The other one, I can never rule that way. Never mind, you proud-hearted Hungarian devil, I'll tame you yet." There was an ugly cloud on his broad brow as he dreamed of a yet unshapen crime. Fritz Braun, gliding out behind the high sample cases, swept the morning's receipts out of the large bill compartment of the cash drawer. "Seventy-five dollars.
Listen: let me hurry home now and I'll throw Braun over and be back here to meet you at twelve-thirty." He pursed up his thin little lips and shook his head. But I slipped past him in that minute and got out into the street. "At twelve-thirty," I called back as I hurried off. I got around the corner in a jiffy. Oh, I could hardly walk, Mag! I wanted to fly and dance and skip.
And bitter tears mingled with the salt brine flashing by the tears of a repentent magdalen. Fritz Braun never knew that the woman who submitted to his caresses was a spirit of wrath. Fool in his own conceit, he was yet watchful. If she makes a single false move at Stettin, she seals her own fate, he darkly pledged his familiar demon.
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