"You are Count Skariatine, and I have the honour to offer you my services at this important juncture."
The Count breathed hard. The shock, overtaking him when he was in his normal condition, was tremendous. The colour came and went rapidly in his features, and he caught his breath, leaning heavily upon the little lawyer, who watched his face with some anxiety. Akulina"s remark about the Count"s madness had made him more careful than he would otherwise have been in his manner of breaking the news.
"I am not well," said the Count in a low voice. "To-day is Wednesday--I am never well on Wednesdays."
"To-day is Thursday," answered Grabofsky.
"Thursday? Thursday--" the Count reeled, and would have fallen, but for the support of the nervous little man"s wiry arm.
Then, in the s.p.a.ce of a second, took place that strange phenomenon of the intelligence which is as yet so imperfectly understood. It is called the "Transfer" in the jargon of the half-developed science which deals with suggestion and the like. Its effects are strange, sudden and complete, often observed, never understood, but chronicled in hundreds of cases and a.n.a.lysed in every seat of physiological learning in Europe. In the twinkling of an eye, a part or the whole of the intelligence, or of the sensations, is reversed in action, and this with a logical precision of which no description can give any idea. It is universally considered as the first step in the direction of recovery.
The action of the Count"s mind was "transferred," therefore, since the word is consecrated by usage. Fortunately for him, the transfer coincided with a material change in his fortunes. Had this not been the case it would have had the effect of making him mad through the whole week, and sane only from Tuesday evening until the midnight of Wednesday. As it was, the result was of a contrary nature. Being now in reality restored to wealth and dignity, he was able to understand and appreciate the reality during six days, becoming again, in imagination, a cigarette-maker upon the seventh, a harmless delusion which already shows signs of disappearing, and from which the princ.i.p.al authorities confidently a.s.sert that he will soon be quite free.
He pa.s.sed but one moment in a state of semi-consciousness. Then he raised his head, and stood erect, and to the great surprise of Grabofsky, showed no further surprise at the news he had just received.
"The fact is," he said, quietly, "I was expecting you yesterday. I had received a letter from the wife of the steward informing me of the death of my father and brother. I think your coming to-day must have disturbed me, as I have some difficulty in recalling the circ.u.mstances which attended our meeting here."
"A pa.s.sing indisposition," suggested Grabofsky. "Nothing more. The weather is warm, sultry in fact."
"Yes, it must have been that. And now, we had better communicate the state of things to Herr Fischelowitz, to whom I consider myself much indebted."
"Our Consul came with me," said the lawyer. "He is in the shop. Perhaps you did not notice him."
"No--I do not think I did. I am afraid he thought me very careless."
"Not at all, not at all." Grabofsky began to think that there had been some truth in Akulina"s remarks after all, but he kept his opinion to himself, then and afterwards, a course which was justified by subsequent events. He and the Count turned towards the shop, and, entering, found Fischelowitz and the Consul conversing together.
The Count bowed to the latter with much ceremony.
"I fear," he said, "that you must have thought me careless just now. The suddenness of the news I have received has affected me. Pray accept my best thanks for your kindness in accompanying Doctor Grabofsky this morning."
"Do not mention it, Count. I am only too glad to be of service."
"You are very kind. And now, Herr Fischelowitz," he continued, turning to the tobacconist, "it is my pleasant duty to thank you also. I looked for these gentlemen yesterday. They have arrived to-day. The change which I expected would take place has come, and I am about to return to my home.
The memories of poverty and exile can never be pleasant, but I do not think that I have any just reason to complain. Will it please you, Herr Fischelowitz, and you, gentlemen, to go into the next room with me? I wish to take my leave of those who have so long been my companions."
Fischelowitz opened the door of communication and held it back respectfully for the Count to pa.s.s. His ideas were exceedingly confused, but his instinct told him to make all atonement in his power for his wife"s outbursts of temper. The Count entered first, and the other three followed him, Grabofsky, the Consul, and Fischelowitz. The little back shop was very full. To judge from the last accents of Akulina"s voice she had been repaying Johann Schmidt with compound interest, now that the right was on her side, for the manner in which he had attacked her. As the Count entered, however, all held their peace, and he began to speak in the midst of total silence. He stood by the little black table upon which his lean, stained fingers had manufactured so many hundreds of thousands of cigarettes.
"Herr Fischelowitz," he began, "I am here to say good-bye to you, to your good wife, and to my companions. During a number of years you have afforded me the opportunity of earning an honest living, and I have to thank you very heartily for the forbearance you have shown me. It is not your fault if your consideration for me has sometimes taken a pa.s.sive rather than an active form. It was not your business to fight my battles.
Give me your hand, Herr Fischelowitz. We part, as we have lived, good friends. I wish you all possible success."
The tobacconist bowed low as he respectfully shook hands.
"Too much honour," he said.
"Frau Fischelowitz," continued the Count, "you have acted according to your lights and your beliefs. I bear you no ill-will. I only hope that if any other poor gentleman should ever take my place you will not make his position harder than it would naturally be, and I trust that all may be well with you."
"I never meant it, Herr Graf," said Akulina, awkwardly, as she took his proffered hand.
He turned to the Cossack.
"Good-bye, Johann Schmidt, good-bye. I shall see you again, before long.
We have always helped each other, my friend. I have much to thank you for."
"You have helped me, you mean," said the Cossack, in a rather shaky voice.
"No, no--each other, and we will continue to do so, I hope, in a different way. Good-bye, Dumnoff. You have a better heart than people think."
"Are you not going to take me to Russia, after all?" asked the mujik, almost humbly.
"Did I say I would? Then you shall go. But not as coachman, Dumnoff. Not as coachman, I think. Good-bye, Anna Nicolaevna," he said, turning to the insignificant girl, who was at last too much awed to giggle.
Then he came to Vjera"s place. The girl was leaning forward, hiding her face in her hands, and resting her small, pointed elbows on the table.
"Vjera, dear," he said, bending down to her, "will you come with me, now?"
She looked up, suddenly, and her face was very white and drawn, and wet with tears.
"Oh no, no!" she said in a low voice. "How can I ever be worthy of you, since it is really true?"
But the Count put his arm round the poor little sh.e.l.l-maker"s waist, and made her stand beside him in the midst of them all.
"Gentlemen," he said, in his calmly dignified manner, "let me present to you the Countess Skariatine. She will bear that name to-morrow. I owe you a confession before leaving you, in her honour and to my humiliation. I had contracted a debt of honour, and I had nothing wherewith to pay it.
There was but an hour left--an hour, and then my life and my honour would have been gone together."
Vjera looked up into his face with a pitiful entreaty, but he would go on.
"She saved me, gentlemen," he continued. "She cut off her beautiful hair from her head, and sold it for me. But that is not the reason why she is to be my wife. There is a better reason than that. I love her, gentlemen, with all my heart and soul, and she has told me that she loves me."
He felt her weight upon him, and, looking down, he saw that she had fainted in his arms, with a look of joy upon her poor wan face which none there had ever seen in the face of man or woman.
And so love conquered.
The End.
MR. CRAWFORD"S LAST NOVEL.
KATHARINE LAUDERDALE.
The first of a series of novels dealing with New York life.
PRESS COMMENTS.
"Mr. Crawford at his best is a great novelist, and in _Katharine Lauderdale_ we have him at his best."--_Boston Daily Advertiser._
"A most admirable novel, excellent in style, flashing with humor, and full of the ripest and wisest reflections upon men and women."--_The Westminster Gazette._