CHAPTER VII.
"You had better let me take you home," said Schmidt, kindly, after the total failure of the last effort.
Vjera seemed to be stupefied by the sense of disappointment.

She went back to the door of the tobacconist's house and put out her hand as though to ring the bell again then, realising how useless the attempt would be, she let her arms fall by her sides and leaned against the door-post, her muffled head bent forward and her whole attitude expressing her despair.
"Come, come, Vjera," said the Cossack in an encouraging tone, "it is not so bad after all.

By this time the Count is fast asleep and is dreaming of his fortune, you know, so that it would be a cruelty to wake him up.

In the morning we will all go with Fischelowitz and have him let out, and he will be none the worse." "I am afraid he will be--very much the worse," said Vjera.

"It is Wednesday to-morrow, and if he wakes up there--oh, I do not dare think of it.