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As they began to move up the street, he did not offer her his arm again. "You are so kind, so kind to me," said poor Vjera. "How can I ever thank you!" "Between you and me there is no question of thanks," answered her companion. "Or if there is to be such a question it should arise in another way. It is for me to thank you." "For what?"
"I could not have slept if I had not come here first, and it was very good of you. I will go home, but do not come with me you must be tired." "I am never tired," he answered, and they began to walk away in the direction whence they had come. For a long time neither spoke. At last Schmidt broke the silence. "Vjera," he said, "I have been thinking about it all and I do not understand it.
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."
Then Vjera showed by a gesture that she wished to cross the street, on the other side of which was situated one of the principal hotels of the city. In front of the entrance Vjera put out her hand entreatingly towards her basket, but the Count took no notice of the attempt and resolutely ascended the steps of the porch by her side.
In the silence that followed, only the soft jingle of the scissors was heard. "There!" exclaimed the hairdresser, holding up a hand-mirror behind her. "I have been generous, you see. I have not cut it very short. See for yourself." "Thank you," said Vjera. "You are very kind." She saw nothing, indeed, but she was satisfied, and rose quickly.
I will be a boy for you, Vjera, and I will love as boys love, but with the strength of a man who has known sorrow and overlived it. You shall not feel that in taking me you are taking a father, a protector, a man to whom your youth seems childhood, and your youthfulness childish folly.
And Vjera had brought with her her childish impressions, and applied them in the present case as descriptive of the Munich police-station. The whole subject was to her so full of horror that she had not dared to ask Schmidt for the details of the Count's situation. To her, a revolutionary caught in the act of undermining the Tsar's bedroom, could not be in a worse case.
Yes, one will bring money in a black leathern case I know just how it will look and another will have with him a box full of documents all lawfully mine and a third will bring my orders, that I once wore, and with them the order of Saint Alexander Nevsky and a letter on broad heavy paper, signed Alexander Alexandrovitch, signed by the Tsar himself, Vjera.
He started, in the utmost astonishment, staring at her as though he fancied that she had lost her senses. "You! Why, Vjera, how can you imagine that I would take it from you, or how do you think it would be possible for you to find it? You are mad, my dear child, quite mad!"
A sentry was pacing the pavement under the glare of the gaslight, his shadow lengthening, shortening, disappearing and lengthening again on the stone-way as he walked slowly up and down. Vjera and her companion stopped on the other side of the street. The sentinel paid no attention to them. "You are quite sure it is there?" asked the girl, under her breath. Schmidt nodded instead of answering.
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