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Updated: June 11, 2025
"It is silver," he said, referring to the latter utensil, as he held up the whole handful before Vjera's eyes. "But if we can find a jeweller's shop open, we will sell it. We can get more for it in that way. And now your wolf's skin, Vjera. And be sure to bring me a needle and some strong thread when you come down.
He even drew himself together, as it were, with the movement of dignity which was habitual with him, straightening his back, squaring his shoulders and leaning slightly forward in his seat. As he began to speak again, Vjera clasped her hands upon her knees and looked down at the gravel of the public path. "I am in earnest," he said.
He has done justice on them for me, and they will not break loose from the house he has made for them to lie in and to sleep in for ever. And now, friend Death, I am master in their stead, and you must give me time to enjoy the mastership before you serve me likewise. Oh Vjera, the joy, the delight, the ecstasy, the glory of it all!"
"In Heaven's name what is it? Speak to me I am Vjera here, beside you." He looked up suddenly, and seemed to recover his self-possession. "You came just in time, Vjera God bless you. I " he hesitated. "I think I must have been a little dizzy with the heat. It is a warm evening a very warm evening."
"I have not forgotten, dear Vjera," he whispered in her ear. Schmidt passed them quickly and again went out, whether from a sense of delicacy, or because he saw an opportunity of renewing the fight outside, is not certain. He closed the door of communication behind him. Vjera looked up into the Count's eyes and the blush that rarely came, the blush of true happiness, mounted to her face.
Vjera toiled on and on, watching the creeping sunshine on the floor, glancing at the ever-increasing heap of cut leaves that fell from the Cossack's cutting-block, noting the slow rise in the pile of paper shells before her and comparing it with that produced by the girl at her elbow, longing for the moment when she would see the freshly-made cigarettes just below the inner edge of Dumnoff's basket, taking account of every little thing by which to persuade herself that the day was declining and the evening at hand.
"I have given it up." "Herr Schmidt!" exclaimed the girl in evident delight. It was Vjera. "Yes but, in Heaven's name, Vjera, what are you doing here at this hour of the night? You ought to be at home and asleep." "Oh, you have not heard the dreadful news," cried poor Vjera in accents of distress.
And now the poor man was puzzled and made anxious by the girl's obstinate rejection of his offer. A chilly thought took shape in his mind and pained him exceedingly. "Vjera," he said at last, "I see how it is. You have never loved me. You have only pitied me. You are good and kind, Vjera, but I wish it had been otherwise."
"I do not see what, short of climbing up the flat walls of the house. But I am not a lizard, you know." "We might call. Perhaps they would hear our voices if we called together," suggested Vjera, drawing back into the middle of the street and looking up at the closed windows of the third story. "Herr Fischelowitz!" she cried, in a shrill, weak tone that seemed to find no echo in the still air.
On all other days, Vjera was accustomed to see the Count's quiet face opposite to her, and when she was most weary of her monotonous toil, a glance at him gave her fresh courage, and turned the currents of her thoughts into a channel not always smooth indeed, but long familiar and never wearisome to follow.
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