o be
satisfied--" Akulina began.

"And yet none of us are," interrupted the Cossack with a laugh. "Strange,
is it not?"

Dumnoff now came in, and a moment later the insignificant girl, who began
to giggle foolishly as soon as she saw that something was happening which
she could not understand.

"None of us are satisfied," continued Johann Schmidt, taking the letter
from Akulina. "Here, Dumnoff, here Anna Nicolaevna, is this the
Chosjaika's handwriting or not? Let everybody see and judge."

"It is outrageous!" exclaimed Akulina, trying to get possession of the
letter again.

"You see how she tries to get it," laughed the Cossack, savagely. "She
would be glad to tear it to pieces--of course she would."

"I wish you would all go about your business," said Fischelowitz with an
approach to asperity.

Akulina was furious, but she did not know what to do. Everybody began
talking together.

"Of course it is the Barina's handwriting," said Dumnoff confidently. He
supposed it was always safe to follow Schmidt's lead, when he followed any
one.

"Of course it is," chimed in the insignificant Anna.

"You--you minx--you flatter-cat, you little serpent!" cried Akulina,
speaking three languages at once in her excitement. "Go--get along--go to
your work--"

"No, no, stay!" exclaimed the Cossack authoritatively. "Do you know what
this is?" he asked of all present again. "Our good mistress, here, has for
some reason or other been trying to make the Count worse by having sham
letters posted to him from home--"

"It is a lie! A base, abominable lie! Turn the man out, Christian
Gregorovitch! Turn him out, or send for the police."

"Turn him out yourself," answered the tobacconist phlegmatically.

"Posted to him from home," continued the Cossack, "and telling him that
his father and brother are dead and that he has come into property and the
like. What do you think of that?"

"It is a shame," growled Dumnoff, beginning to understand.

The girl laughed foolishly.

"I swear to you," began Akulina, crimson with anger. "I swear to you by
all--"

"Customers, customers!" exclaimed Fischelowitz in a stage whisper. "Quiet,
I tell you!" He made a rush for the other side of the counter, and briskly
assumed his professional smile. The others fell back into the corners.

Two gentlemen in black entered the shop. The one was a stout,
angry-looking person of middle age, very dark, and very full about the
lower part of the face, whi