t to-morrow I shall be reinstated in my
possessions. You have shown me kindness--kindness, Herr Fischelowitz, and,
what has been more than kindness to me, you have shown me great courtesy.
Every one has not treated the poor gentleman with the same forbearance.
But let bygones be bygones. On the occasion of my return to prosperity,
permit me to offer you, as the only gift as yet within my means, the
result of my last day's work within these walls. You have been very kind,
and I thank you very sincerely."

There was a tremor in the Count's voice, and a moisture in his eyes, as he
drew himself up in his threadbare decent frock-coat and held out his
sinewy hand, stained with the long handling of tobacco in his daily
labour. Fischelowitz smiled with uncommon cheerfulness as he grasped the
bony fingers heartily.

"Thank you," he said. "I accept. I esteem it an honour to have been of any
assistance to you in your temporary annoyances."

Vjera still hid her face. The Cossack watched what was happening with an
expression half sad, half curious, and Dumnoff displayed a set of
ferocious white teeth as he stupidly grinned from ear to ear.

CHAPTER II.

Fischelowitz paid each worker for the day's work, in his quick, cheerful
way, and each, being paid, passed out through the front shop into the
street. Five minutes later the Count was strolling along the
Maximilians-strasse in the direction of the royal palace. As he walked he
drew himself up to the full height of his military figure and looked into
the faces of the passers in the way with grave dignity. At that hour there
were many people abroad, slim lieutenants in the green uniforms of the
Uhlans and in the blue coats and crimson facings of the heavy cavalry,
superior officers with silver or gold plated epaulettes, slim maidens and
plump matrons, beardless students in bright, coloured caps, and solemn,
elderly civilians with great beards and greater spectacles, great Munich
burghers and little Munich nobles, gaily dressed children of all ages,
dogs of every breed from the Saint Bernard to the crooked-jointed Dachs,
perambulators not a few and legions of nursery-maids. Most of the people
who passed cast a glance at the thoroughbred-looking man in the threadbare
frock-coat who looked at them all with such an air of quiet superiority,
carrying his head so high and putting down his feet with such a firm
tread. There were doubtless those among the crowd who saw in the tired