Nevertheless he never had anything to spare for his own comfort, for he was as ready to give a beggar in the street the piece of silver which represented a good part of the value of his day's work as most rich people are to part with a penny.

He never inquired the reason for the request of help, but to all who asked of him he gave what he had, gravely, without question, as a matter of course.

If Dumnoff's pockets were empty and his throat dry, he went to the Count and got what he wanted.

Dumnoff might be brutal, rude, coarse; it made no difference.

The Count did not care to know where the money went nor when it would be returned, if ever.
If Schmidt's wife--for he had a wife--was ill, the Count lent all he had, if the children's shoes were worn out, he lent again, and when Schmidt, who was himself extremely conscientious in his odd way, brought the money back, the Count generally gave it to the first poor person whom he met.
Akulina supposed that this habit belonged to his madness.