As she dropped her shawl, Fischelowitz caught sight of the back of her head, and broke into a laugh.
"Why, Vjera!" he cried.

"What have you done?
You have made yourself look perfectly ridiculous!" The poor girl turned scarlet, and busied herself at her table without answering.

Her fingers trembled as she tried to handle her glass tube.

The Cossack, whose anger had not been diluted by being left to boil all night, dropped his swivel knife and went up to Fischelowitz with a look in his face so extremely disagreeable that the tobacconist drew back a little, not knowing what to expect.
"I will tell you something," said Schmidt, savagely.

"You will have to change your manners if you expect any of us to work for you." "What do you mean ?" stammered Fischelowitz, in whom nature had omitted to implant the gift of physical courage, except in such measure as saved him from the humiliation of being afraid of his wife.
"I mean what I say," answered the Cossack.