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Updated: June 11, 2025
It seemed as though he were oppressed by the inaction to which he was constrained during the last hours of waiting before the great moment, and he moved nervously, like a man anxious to throw off a burden. Vjera rose also, with a slow and weary movement. "It is late," she said. "I must go home. Good-night." "No. I will go with you. I will see you to your door."
"Dear Vjera!" he exclaimed, in a low caressing tone, as he smoothed the folded strip between his fingers. He was thinking, and thinking connectedly, of all that had just taken place, and wondering how it was that he had been able to accept such a sacrifice from one so little able to sacrifice anything.
"And why, my dear Count?" inquired Fischelowitz, shaking the six marks in one hand and the remainder of his money in the other, as though weighing the silver. "And why will you refuse me the honour " The other working people exchanged glances of amusement, as though they knew what was coming. Vjera hid her face in her hands as she rested her elbows on the table before her.
"Three and a half," he said, handing her the money. "I had hoped it would be worth more," she answered, putting the coins with the rest. "No. He weighed it with silver marks. It weighed just four of them, and he said he must have half a mark to make it worth his while." "Very well," said Vjera, "it is always something. I have twenty-eight and a half now."
It is a good Russian name, in any case, and a gentleman's name, I should think. Of course I only mean that I that you should not think that because I in fact," blundered out the good man, "you must not suppose that you will be a real countess, you know." "I?" exclaimed Vjera, with a nervous, hysterical laugh, which the Cossack supposed to be genuine.
Do not think that, dear do not let me see that you think it, for it would hurt me. There is much for you, much, very much." "To-day," answered Vjera, sadly, "but not to-morrow." "You are cruel, without meaning to be even unkind," said the Count in an unsteady voice. This time it was Vjera who took his hand in hers and pressed it.
"Do you think the samovar is of gold?" she inquired. "Six and a half for the two. Take it or leave it." Vjera looked at Schmidt anxiously as though to ask his opinion. "They will not give more," he said, in Russian. The girl took the money and the flimsy tickets and they went out into the street.
"The best man for this lives in the Maffei Strasse," said Schmidt after a few minutes. "Show me the way." Vjera turned as he directed. At that moment she would have lost herself in the familiar streets, had he not been there to guide her. The hairdresser's shop was brilliantly lighted, and as good fortune would have it, there were no customers within.
Then, without another word, she slipped noiselessly out into the street, clasping the precious relic to her breast. "I have got it I have got it all!" cried Vjera, as she came up with Schmidt on the pavement. His quick eye caught sight of the parcel, only half hidden by her shawl. "But you have brought the hair away with you," he said, in some anxiety, and fearing a mistake or some new trouble.
She went back to the door of the tobacconist's house and put out her hand as though to ring the bell again then, realising how useless the attempt would be, she let her arms fall by her sides and leaned against the door-post, her muffled head bent forward and her whole attitude expressing her despair. "Come, come, Vjera," said the Cossack in an encouraging tone, "it is not so bad after all.
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