he unfortunate doll. And then I promised that
to-morrow I would pay the money, and I made Fischelowitz give it to me in
a piece of newspaper, and there it is."

"What a terrible smash there must have been in the shop!" said Dumnoff. "I
would like to have seen the lady's face."

In their Russian speech, the difference between the original social
standing of the three men who now worked as equals, was well defined by
their way of speaking of Fischelowitz's wife. To Dumnoff, mujik by origin
and by nature, she was "barina," the town "lady," to the Cossack she was
"chosjaika," the "mistress," the wife of the "patron"--to the Count she
was Akulina, and when he addressed her he called her Akulina Feodorovna,
adding the derivative of her father's name in accordance with the
universal Russian custom.

"Let us see the doll," said Schmidt, still curious. The Count, whose
eating had been interrupted by the telling of his story, pushed the parcel
towards the Cossack with one hand, while using his fork with the other.

Johann Schmidt carefully unwrapped the newspaper and exposed the
unfortunate Gigerl to view. Then with both hands he set it up before him,
raising the limp figure from the waist, and trying to put it into
position, until it almost recovered something of its old look of
insolence, though the eye-glass was broken and the little white hat sadly
battered. The three men contemplated it in silence, and the other guests
turned curious glances towards it. Dumnoff, as usual, laughed hoarsely.

"Rather the worse for wear," he observed.

"Kreuzmillionendonnerwetter! That is my Gigerl!" roared a deep German
voice across the room.

The three Russians started and looked round quickly. One of the porters, a
burly man with an angry scowl on his honest face, was already on his legs
and was striding towards the table.

"That is my Gigerl!" he repeated, laying one heavy hand upon the board,
and thrusting the forefinger of the other under the doll's nose.

Dumnoff stared at him with an expression which showed that he did not in
the least understand what was happening. Johann Schmidt's keen black eyes
looked wonderingly from the porter to the Count, while the latter leaned
back in his chair, contemplating the angry man with a calm surprise which
proved how little faith he placed in the assertion of possession.

"You are under a mistake," he said, with great politeness. "This doll is
the property of Herr Fischelowitz, the well-kno