A Cigarette-Makers Romance | Page 7

lacking in
Johann Schmidt, the Cossack. He well knew that the Count had made
double the quantity, but he also knew that the latter enjoyed the small
triumph of producing twice what seemed to be expected of him.
"Two thousand, Herr Fischelowitz," he said, proudly. Then seeing that
his employer was counting out the sum of six marks, he made a
deprecating gesture, as though refusing all payment.
"No," he said, with great dignity, and rising from his seat. "No. You
must allow me, on this occasion, to refuse the honorarium usual under
the circumstances."
"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.
"I must indeed explain," answered the Count. "To-morrow, I shall be
obliged to leave you, not to return to the occupation which has so long
been a necessity to me in my troubles. Fortune at last returns to me and
I am free. I think I have spoken to you in confidence of my situation,
once at least, if not more often. My difficulties are at an end. I have
received letters announcing that to-morrow I shall be reinstated in my
possessions. You have shown me kindness--kindness, Herr
Fischelowitz, and, what has been more than kindness to me, you have
shown me great courtesy. Every one has not treated the poor gentleman
with the same forbearance. But let bygones be bygones. On the

occasion of my return to prosperity, permit me to offer you, as the only
gift as yet within my means, the result of my last day's work within
these walls. You have been very kind, and I thank you very sincerely."
There was a tremor in the Count's voice, and a moisture in his eyes, as
he drew himself up in his threadbare decent frock-coat and held out his
sinewy hand, stained with the long handling of tobacco in his daily
labour. Fischelowitz smiled with uncommon cheerfulness as he grasped
the bony fingers heartily.
"Thank you," he said. "I accept. I esteem it an honour to have been of
any assistance to you in your temporary annoyances."
Vjera still hid her face. The Cossack watched what was happening with
an expression half sad, half curious, and Dumnoff displayed a set of
ferocious white teeth as he stupidly grinned from ear to ear.
CHAPTER II.
Fischelowitz paid each worker for the day's work, in his quick, cheerful
way, and each, being paid, passed out through the front shop into the
street. Five minutes later the Count was strolling along the
Maximilians-strasse in the direction of the royal palace. As he walked
he drew himself up to the full height of his military figure and looked
into the faces of the passers in the way with grave dignity. At that hour
there were many people abroad, slim lieutenants in the green uniforms
of the Uhlans and in the blue coats and crimson facings of the heavy
cavalry, superior officers with silver or gold plated epaulettes, slim
maidens and plump matrons, beardless students in bright, coloured caps,
and solemn, elderly civilians with great beards and greater spectacles,
great Munich burghers and little Munich nobles, gaily dressed children
of all ages, dogs of every breed from the Saint Bernard to the
crooked-jointed Dachs, perambulators not a few and legions of
nursery-maids. Most of the people who passed cast a glance at the
thoroughbred-looking man in the threadbare frock-coat who looked at
them all with such an air of quiet superiority, carrying his head so high
and putting down his feet with such a firm tread. There were doubtless

those among the crowd who saw in the tired face the indications of a
life-story not without interest, for the crowd was not, nor ever is, in
Munich, lacking in intelligent and observant persons. But in all the
multitude there was not one man or woman who knew the name of the
individual to whom the face belonged, and there were few who would
have risked the respectability of their social position by making the
acquaintance of a man so evidently poor, even if the occasion had
presented itself.
But presently a figure was seen moving swiftly through the throng in
the direction already taken by the Count, a figure of a type much more
familiar to the sight of the Munich stroller, for it was that of a poorly
dressed girl with a long plait of red-brown hair, carrying a covered
brown straw basket upon one arm and hurrying along with