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Updated: June 14, 2025
He was alone at his little table. "How much money have you got?" asked the Cossack, briefly. Dumnoff looked up rather stupidly, dropped the cigarette he was making, and felt in his pocket for his change.
Dumnoff moved to Schmidt's side and whispered into his ear. "Do you think they have come about the Gigerl?" he inquired anxiously. "Do you think they will arrest us again?" "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."
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.
"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." "There is Dumnoff," said Schmidt. "He probably has something, too."
From time to time the two men exchanged more or less personal observations after their manner. "It seems to me that you work better than usual," remarked the Cossack, looking at Dumnoff. "I feel better," laughed the latter. "I feel as though I had been having a holiday and a country dance." "For the sake of your health, you ought to have a little excitement now and then," continued Schmidt.
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. "Let it be!" said Schmidt sharply, and Dumnoff withdrew his hand again.
Akulina knocked it from the counter into the farthest corner of the shop." "Tell us all about it," said Schmidt, more interested than ever. "Ah, that that is quite another matter," answered the Count, reddening perceptibly as he remembered Akulina's furious abuse. "If you do not, I have no doubt that she will," said Dumnoff, taking another sip.
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.
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. "It is not so bad, after all," remarked Dumnoff.
"This time?" repeated the Count, as though not understanding. "Why do you say this time?" "Because you have so often expected it before," returned the Cossack bluntly, but without malice. "I do not remember ever saying so," said the other, evidently searching among his recollections. "Every Tuesday," growled Dumnoff, sipping his peppery liquor. "Every Tuesday since I can remember."
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