The Count was silent. There was something in her manner which he could not
understand, or rather, as he fancied, there was something in his own brain
which prevented him from understanding a very simple matter, and he grew
impatient with himself. At the same time he felt more and more strongly
drawn to the young girl at his side. As the sun went down and the evening
shadows deepened, he saw more in her face than he had been accustomed to
see there. Every line of the pale features so familiar to his sight in his
everyday life, reminded him of moments in the recent past when he had been
wretchedly unhappy, and when the kindly look in Vjera's face had comforted
him and made life seem less unbearable. In his dreary world she alone had
shown that she cared whether he lived or died, were insulted or respected,
were treated like a dog or like a Christian man. The kindness of his
employer was indeed undeniable, but it was of the sort which grated upon
the sensitive nature of the unfortunate cigarette-maker, for it was in
itself vulgarly cheerful, assuming that, after all, the Count should be
contented with his lot. But Vjera had always seemed to understand him, to
feel for him, to foresee his sensibilities as it were, and to be prepared
for them. In a measure appreciable to himself she admired him, and
admiration alone can make pity palatable to the proud. In her eyes his
constancy under misfortune was as admirable as his misfortunes themselves
were worthy of commiseration. In her eyes he was a gentleman, and one who
had a right to hold his head high among the best. When he was poorest, he
had felt himself to be in her eyes a hero. Are there many men who can
resist the charm of the one woman who believes them to be heroic? Are not
most men, too, really better for the trust and faith that is placed in
them by others, as the earthen vessel, valueless in itself, becomes a
thing of prize and beauty under the loving hand of the artist who draws
graceful figures upon it and colours it skilfully, and handles it
tenderly?

And now the poor man was puzzled and made anxious by the girl's obstinate
rejection of his offer. A chilly thought took shape in his mind and pained
him exceedingly.

"Vjera," he said at last, "I see how it is. You have never loved me. You
have only pitied me. You are good and kind, Vjera, but I wish it had been
otherwise."

He spoke very quietly, in a subdued tone, and the moisture which had been
more than onc