n the publicity of the shop her small black eyes cast glances full of
hate upon the innocent Gigerl, her full flat face reddens with anger when
she remembers the money, and her fat hands would dash the insolent little
figure into the street, if her mercantile understanding did not suggest
the possibility of ultimately selling it for something. In view of such a
fortunate contingency, and whenever she is alone, she carefully dusts the
thing and puts it away in the cupboard in the corner, well knowing that
Fischelowitz will return in an hour, will take it out, set it in its
place, wind it up and watch its performance with his everlasting,
good-humoured, satisfied smile. In public she ventures only to abuse the
doll. In the silent watches of the night she directs her sharp speeches at
Christian himself. Not that she is altogether miserly, nor by any means an
ill-disposed person. Had she been of such a disposition her husband would
not have married her, for he is a very good man of business and a keen
judge of other wares besides tobacco. She is a good mother and a good
housewife, energetic, thrifty, and of fairly even temper; but that
particular piece of generosity which resulted in the acquisition of a
red-coated puppet in exchange for fifty marks fills her heart with anger
and her plump brown fingers with an itching desire to scratch and tear
something or somebody as a means of satisfying her vengeance. For the poor
fellow-countryman was one of the Count's friends, and Akulina Fischelowitz
abhors the Count and loathes him, and the Wiener Gigerl was the beginning
of the end.

While Christian is watching his doll, and Akulina is seated behind the
counter, her hands folded upon her lap, and her eyes darting unquiet
glances at her husband, the Count is busily occupied in making cigarettes
in the dingy back shop among a group of persons, both young and old, all
similarly occupied. It is not to be expected that the workroom should be
cleaner or more tastefully decorated than the counting-house, and in such
a business as the manufacture of cigarettes by hand litter of all sorts
accumulates rapidly. The "Famous Cigarette Manufactory of Christian
Fischelowitz from South Russia" is about as dingy, as unhealthy, as
untidy, as dusty a place as can be found within the limits of tidy,
well-to-do Munich. The room is lighted by a window and a half-glazed door,
both opening upon a dark court. The walls, originally whitewashed, are of
a de