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Updated: June 14, 2025
Vjera dropped her glass tube and her little pieces of paper and looked sadly at him, while he was speaking. "By the by," observed the Cossack, "to-day is Tuesday. I had quite forgotten. So you really leave us to-morrow." "Yes. It is all settled at last, and I have had letters. It is to-morrow and this is my last hundred." "At what time?" inquired Dumnoff, with a rough laugh.
Why do you ask the question?" "Most people say so," replied the other, evidently without any intention of giving pain. "Everybody who works with us thinks so." "Everybody? Everybody? I think you are dreaming, Dumnoff. What do you mean?" "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.
I wish I had a few here." "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." "There is something in that," observed Schmidt. "If he were not out, he would still be in." "Well, if I were, I should still be asleep," said Dumnoff.
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." "I had very little early education," observed Dumnoff. "And none at all afterwards."
It is small wonder that Vjera did not sleep that night. 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.
Having satisfied himself that the blow had taken effect, Dumnoff proceeded to the other side of the field of battle, avoiding the quickly 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.
"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. "Then you have paid the fifty marks?" asked Schmidt, whose curiosity was roused instead of satisfied. "No. I shall pay the money to-morrow.
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.
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. "And how did you spend the night, Count?" he inquired as they walked quickly down the street together.
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.
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