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.