up
sewing with his wife--and then I ran here. But do please help me--we can
do something, I am sure."

"I do not see what, short of climbing up the flat walls of the house. But
I am not a lizard, you know."

"We might call. Perhaps they would hear our voices if we called together,"
suggested Vjera, drawing back into the middle of the street and looking up
at the closed windows of the third story.

"Herr Fischelowitz!" she cried, in a shrill, weak tone that seemed to find
no echo in the still air.

"Herr Fischelowitz, Fischelowitz, Fischelowitz!" bawled the Cossack,
taking up the idea and putting it into very effective execution. His
brazen voice, harsh and high, almost made the windows rattle.

"Somebody will hear that," he observed and cleared his throat for another
effort.

A number of persons heard it, and at the first repetition of the yell, two
or three windows were angrily opened. A head in a white nightcap looked
out from the first story.

"What do you want at this hour of the night?" asked the owner of the
nightcap, already in a rage.

"I want Herr Fischelowitz, who lives in this house," answered the Cossack,
firmly.

"Do you live here? Are you shut out?"

"No--we only want--"

"Then go to the devil!" roared the infuriated German, shutting his window
again with a vicious slam. A grunt of satisfaction from other directions
was followed by the shutting of other windows, and presently all was
silent again.

"I am afraid they sleep at the back of the house," said Vjera, growing
despondent at last.

"I am afraid so, too," answered Johann Schmidt, proudly conscious that the
noise he had made would have disturbed the slumbers of the Seven Sleepers
of Ephesus.

CHAPTER VII.

"You had better let me take you home," said Schmidt, kindly, after the
total failure of the last effort.

Vjera seemed to be stupefied by the sense of disappointment. 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. By this time the Count is fast asleep and is dreaming of
his fortune, you know, so that it would be a cruelty to wake him up. In
the morning we will all go with Fisc