Then she began to arrange the boxes she had brought, setting them in order upon the shelves.

Still neither of the men answered her.

But she was not the woman to be reduced to silence by silence.
"I am always telling you that it is all rubbish," she continued, turning a broad expanse of alpaca-covered back upon her audience.

"I am always telling you that you are no more a count than Fischelowitz is a grand duke, that the whole thing is a foolish imagination which you have stuck into your head, as one sticks tobacco into a paper shell.

And it ought to be burned out of your head, or starved out, or knocked out, or something, for if it stays there it will addle your brains altogether.