"I am not afraid of being taken for a servant or a porter, because I carry a lady's parcel.

Pray give me the basket." "Oh no, pray let it be," cried Vjera, in great earnest.

"I cannot bear to see you with such a thing in your hand." They were still standing before the picture-dealer's window, while many people passed along the pavement.

In trying to draw away, Vjera found herself suddenly in the stream, and just then a broad-shouldered officer who chanced to be looking the other way came into collision with her, so roughly that she was forced almost into the Count's arms.

The latter made a step forward.
"Is it your habit to jostle ladies in that way ?" he asked in a sharp tone, addressing the stout lieutenant.
The latter muttered something which might be taken for an apology and passed on, having no intention of being drawn into a street quarrel with an odd-looking individual who, from his accent, was evidently a foreigner.
The Count's eyes darted an angry glance after the offender, and then he looked again at Vjera.