Oh no! It is not that!" she cried. "I am so--so happy to have kept this!"
Then, without another word, she slipped noiselessly out into the street,
clasping the precious relic to her breast.

CHAPTER XI.

"I have got it--I have got it all!" cried Vjera, as she came up with
Schmidt on the pavement. His quick eye caught sight of the parcel, only
half hidden by her shawl.

"But you have brought the hair away with you," he said, in some anxiety,
and fearing a mistake or some new trouble.

"Yes," she answered. "That is the best of it." Her tears had disappeared
as suddenly as they had come, and she could now hardly restrain the
nervous laughter that rose to her lips.

"But how is that?" asked Schmidt, stopping.

"I gave them my own," she laughed, hysterically. "I gave them my
own--instead. Quick, quick--there is no time to lose. Is it an hour yet,
since I left him?" She ran along, and Schmidt found it hard to keep beside
her without running, too. At last he broke into a sort of jog-trot. In
five minutes they were at the door of the cafe.

The Count was sitting at a small table near the door, an empty coffee-cup
before him, staring with a fixed look at the opposite wall. There were few
people in the place, as the performances at the theatres had already
begun. Vjera entered alone.

"I have brought you the money," she said, joyfully, as she stood beside
him and laid a hand upon his arm to attract his attention, for he had not
noticed her coming.

"The money?" he said, excitedly. "The fifty marks? You have got it?"

She sat down at the table, and began to count the gold and silver,
producing it from her pocket in instalments of four or five coins, and
making little heaps of them before him.

"It is all there--every penny of it," she said, counting the piles again.

The poor man's eyes seemed starting from his head, as he leaned eagerly
forward over the money.

"Is it real? Is it true?" he asked in a low voice. "Oh, Vjera, do not
laugh at me--is it really true, child?"

"Really true--fifty marks." Her pale face beamed with pleasure. "And now
you can go and pay Fischelowitz at once," she added.

But he leaned back a moment in his chair, looking at her intently. Then
his eyes grew moist, and, when he spoke, his voice quivered.

"May God forgive me for taking it of you," he said. "You have saved me,
Vjera--saved my honour, my life--all. God bless you, dear, God bless you!
I am very, very thankful."

He p