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Updated: May 7, 2025
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. "Good Heavens!" exclaimed the Count, in a tone of great anxiety, "I have forgotten Fischelowitz and his money."
Vjera's tone expressed no conviction in the matter. "Certainly. And it shows that he is not really suspected of anything serious only, because Fischelowitz could not be found " "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."
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. "And yet Fischelowitz has already given it to you!
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.
"I will take a box of these cigarettes with me. They are good." "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 "
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.
"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.
The officer glanced at Dumnoff. "Your name?" he inquired. "Victor Ivanowitch Dumnoff." "Occupation?" "Cigarette-maker in the manufactory of Christian Fischelowitz." "Lock him up," said the officer. "Resisting the police in the execution of an arrest," he added, speaking to the scribe at his elbow. "Your name?" continued he, addressing the Count. "Boris Michaelovitch, Count Skariatine."
"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 " "What did you say?" asked Fischelowitz, with an angry laugh.
She was standing as he had left her, absorbed in the contemplation of the financial crisis. "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." "No I daresay not.
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