should not think that because I--in fact," blundered out the good man,
"you must not suppose that you will be a real countess, you know."

"I?" exclaimed Vjera, with a nervous, hysterical laugh, which the Cossack
supposed to be genuine.

"That is all I wanted to say," he continued in a tone of relief, as though
he felt that he had done his duty in warning the poor girl of a possible
disappointment. "It may be true--of course, and I am sure that it once
was, or something like it, but I do not believe he has any chance of
getting his own after so long."

"I cannot think of it--in either way. If it is all an old forgotten tale
which he believes in still-why then, he is mad. Is it not dreadful to see?
So quiet and sensible all the week, and then, on Tuesday night, his
farewell speech to us all--every Tuesday--and his disappointment the next
day, and then a new week begun without any recollection of it all! It is
breaking my heart, Herr Schmidt!"

"Indeed, poor Vjera, you look as though it were."

"And yet, and yet--I do not know. I think that if it were one day to turn
out true--then my heart would be quite broken, for he would go away, and I
should never see him again."

Accustomed as she was to daily association with the man who was walking by
her side, knowing his good heart and feeling his sympathy, it is small
wonder that the lonely girl should have felt impelled to unburden her soul
of some of its bitterness. If her life had gone on as usual, undisturbed
by anything from without, the confessions which now fell from her lips so
easily would never have found words. But she had been unsettled by what
had happened in the early evening, and unstrung by her great anxiety for
the Count's safety. Her own words sounded in her ear before she knew that
she was going to speak them.

"I am sure that something dreadful is going to happen," she continued
after a moment's pause. "He will go mad in that horrible prison, raving
mad, so that they will have to--to hold him--" she sobbed and then
recovered herself by an effort. "Or else--he will fall ill and die, after
it--" Here she broke down completely and stopping in the middle of the
street began crying bitterly, clutching at Schmidt's arm as though to keep
from falling.

"I should not wonder," he said, but she fortunately did not catch the
words.

He was very sorry for the poor girl, and felt inclined to take her in his
arms and carry her to her home, for he saw that she