A Cigarette-Makers Romance | Page 9

head waiter appeared, glorious in a
perfectly new evening coat and a phenomenal shirt front.
"Ah, my cigarettes!" he exclaimed briskly, and the Count heard the
chink of the nickel pence, as the head waiter inserted two fat white
fingers into the pocket of his exceedingly fashionable waistcoat.
The sight which must follow was one which the Count was anxious not
to see. He therefore turned his back and pretended to brush from his
sleeve a speck of dust revealed to his searching eye in the strong
afternoon light which streamed through the open door. Then Vjera's

low-spoken word of thanks and her light tread made him aware that she
had received her little gratuity; he stood politely aside while she passed
out, and then went down the half-dozen steps with her. 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?"
"For many things, all of which have proceeded from your kindness of
heart and have resulted in making my life bearable during the past
months--or years. I keep little account of time. How long is it since I
have been making cigarettes for Fischelowitz, at the rate of three marks
a thousand?"
"Ever since I can remember," answered Vjera. "It is six years since I
came to work there as a little girl."
"Six years? That is not possible! You must be mistaken, it cannot be so
long."
Vjera said nothing, but turned her face away with an expression of
pain.
"Yes, it is a long time, since all that happened," said the Count,
thoughtfully. "I was a young man then, I am old now."
"Old! How can you say anything so untrue!" Vjera exclaimed with
considerable indignation.
"Yes, I am old. It is no wonder. We say at home that 'strange earth dies
without wind.' A foreign land will make old bones of a man without the
help of years. That is what Germany has done for me. And yet, how

much older I should be but for you, dear Vjera! Shall we sit down here,
in this quiet place, under the trees? You know it is all over to-morrow,
and I am free at last. I would like to tell you my story."
Vjera, who was tired of the close atmosphere of the workroom and
whose strength was not enough to let her walk far with pleasure, sat
down upon the green bench willingly enough, but the nervous look of
pain had not disappeared from her face.
"Is it of any use to tell it to me again?" she asked, sadly, as she leaned
against the painted backboard.
The Count produced a cigarette and gravely lighted it, before he
answered her, and when he spoke he seemed to attach little or no
importance to her question.
"You see," he said, "it is all different now, and I can look at it from a
different point of view. Formerly when I spoke of it, I am afraid that I
spoke bitterly, for, of course, I could not foresee that it could all come
right again so soon, so very soon. And now that this weary time is over
I can look back upon it with some pride, if with little pleasure--save for
the part you have played in my life, and--may I say it?--saving the part
I have played in yours."
He put out his hand gently and tenderly touched hers, and there was
something in the meeting of those two thin, yellow hands, stained with
the same daily labour and not meeting for the first time thus, that sent a
thrill to the two hearts and that might have brought a look of thoughtful
interest into eyes dulled and wearied by the ordinary sights of this
world. Vjera did not resent the innocent caress, but the colour that came
into her face was not of the same hue as that which had burned there
when he had insisted upon carrying her basket. This time the blush was
not painful to see, but rather shed a faint light of beauty over the plain,
pale features. Poor Vjera was happy for a moment.
"I am very glad if I have been anything to you," she said. "I would I
might have been more."

"More? I do not see--you have been gentle, forbearing, respecting my
misfortunes and trying to make others respect them. What more could
you have done, or what more could you have been?"
Vjera was silent, but she softly