suspiciously at the
questioner.

"No news, that I know of," he answered. "Except for me," he added, after a
pause, and looking dreamily out of the window at a street lamp that was
burning opposite. "To-morrow, at this time, I shall be off."

"And where are you going?" asked the Cossack, good-humouredly. "Are you
going for long, if I may ask?"

"Yes--yes. I shall never come back to Munich." He had been speaking in
German, but noticing that the other guests in the room were silent, and
thinking that they might listen, he broke off into Russian. "I shall go
home, at last," he said, his face brightening perceptibly as his visions
of wealth again rose before his eyes. "I shall go home and rest myself for
a long time in the country, and then, next winter, perhaps, I will go to
Petersburg."

"Well, well, I wish you a pleasant journey," said Schmidt. "So there is to
be no mistake about the fortune this time?"

"This time?" repeated the Count, as though not understanding. "Why do you
say this time?"

"Because you have so often expected it before," returned the Cossack
bluntly, but without malice.

"I do not remember ever saying so," said the other, evidently searching
among his recollections.

"Every Tuesday," growled Dumnoff, sipping his peppery liquor. "Every
Tuesday since I can remember."

"I think you must be mistaken," said the Count, politely.

Dumnoff grunted something quite incomprehensible, and which might have
been taken for the clearing of his huge throat after the inflaming
draught. The Cossack was silent, and his bright eyes looked pityingly at
his companion.

"And you have begun to put together your parcels for the journey, I see,"
he observed after a time, when the Count had got his morsel of food and
was beginning to eat it. His curiosity gave him no rest.

"Yes," answered the Count, mysteriously. "That is something which I shall
probably take with me, as a remembrance of Munich."

"I should not have thought that you needed anything more than a cigarette
to remind you of the place," remarked Dumnoff.

The Count smiled faintly, for, considering Dumnoff's natural dulness, the
remark had a savour of wit in it.

"That is true," he said. "But there are other things which could remind me
even more forcibly of my exile."

"Well, what is it? Tell us!" cried Dumnoff, impatiently enough, but
somewhat softened by the Count's appreciation of his humour. At the same
time he put out his broad red hand in t