d repeated that operation so many hundreds of thousands of
times; or, at least, it might have been expected that on realising where
he was he would be satisfied with a glance of recognition and would turn
away.

But the Count's fate had ordained otherwise. When he reached the shop the
lights were burning brightly in the show window and within. Through the
glass door he could see that Fischelowitz was comfortably installed in a
chair behind the counter, contentedly smoking one of his own best
cigarettes, and smiling happily to himself through the fragrant cloud. If
the tobacconist's wife had been present, the Count would have gone away
without entering, for he did not like her, and had reason to suspect that
she hated him, which was indeed the case. But Akulina was nowhere to be
seen, the shop looked bright and cheerful, the Count was tired, he pushed
the door and entered. Fischelowitz turned his head without modifying his
smile, and seeing who his visitor was nodded familiarly. The Count raised
his hat a little from his head and immediately replaced it.

"Good-evening, Herr Fischelowitz," he said, speaking, as usual, in German.

"Good-evening, Count," answered the tobacconist, cheerfully. "Sit down,
and light a cigarette. What is the news?"

"Great news with me, for to-morrow," said the other, bending his head as
he stooped over the nickel-plated lamp on the counter, in which a tiny
flame burned for the convenience of customers. "To-morrow, at this time, I
shall be on my way to Petersburg."

"Well, I hope so, for your sake," was the good-humoured reply. "But I am
afraid it will always be to-morrow, Herr Graf."

The Count shook his head after staring for a few seconds at his employer,
and then smoked quietly, as though he attached no weight to the remark.
Fischelowitz looked curiously at him, and during a brief moment the smile
faded from his face.

"You have not been long at supper," he remarked, after a pause. The
observation was suggested by the condition of his own appetite.

"Supper?" repeated the Count, rather vaguely. "I believe I had forgotten
all about it. I will go presently."

"The Count is reserving himself for to-morrow," said an ironical voice in
the background. Akulina entered the shop from the workroom, a guttering
candle in a battered candlestick in one hand, and a number of gaily
coloured pasteboard boxes tucked under the other arm. "What is the use of
eating to-day when there will be so many g