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"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."
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. "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."
"How long have you known Count Skariatine?" inquired the Consul, carelessly, when he was alone with Fischelowitz. "Six or seven years," answered the latter. "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." "We only know that he calls himself a Count."
"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."
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, of which there had been an epidemic in the neighbourhood, but which was supposed to have quite disappeared when they fell ill.
"And how many children has he left?" inquired the Count. "He died unmarried." "So that I " "You are the lawful heir." "Unless my father marries again." The colour rose in the Count's lean cheeks. "That is impossible." "Why?" "Because he is dead, too." "Then " "You are Count Skariatine, and I have the honour to offer you my services at this important juncture." The Count breathed hard.
Fischelowitz bowed till his nose almost came into collision with the counter. The others in the shop held their peace and opened their eyes. "And I am told that Count Boris Michaelovitch Skariatine is here," continued the lawyer. "Oh the mad Count!" exclaimed Akulina with an angry laugh, and coming forward. "Yes, we can tell you all about him."
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. "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.
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."
I shall be obliged if you will inform Count Skariatine that Konstantin Grabofsky desires the honour of an interview with him." "Go and call him, Akulina," said Fischelowitz, "since the gentleman wishes to see him." "Go yourself," retorted his wife. "Go together, and be quick about it!" said the Consul, who was tired of waiting. "And please to say that I wait his convenience," added the lawyer.