Then he quickly began to draw the hole together, sewing it firmly with the furrier's cross stitch, and so neatly that the seam looked like a single straight line on the side of the leather, while it was quite invisible in the fur on the other.
"What is the other thing you have brought ?" he inquired without looking up from his work.

The light was bad, and he had to bend his eyes close to the sewing.
"It is something I may be able to sell," said Vjera in a rather unsteady voice.
"Silver ?" asked Schmidt, cheerfully.
"Oh no--not silver--something dearer," she said, almost under her breath.
"I am afraid it is very hard for you to see," she added quickly, attempting to avoid his questions.

"Do you not think that I could hold a match for you, to make a little more light?
You always have some with you." "Wait a moment--yes--I have almost finished the seam--here is the box.
Now, if you can hold the match just there, just over the needle, and keep it from going out, I can finish the end off neatly." Vjera knelt down beside him and held the flickering bit of wood as well as she was able.

They made a strange picture, out in the unfrequented street, the dim glare of the gaslight above them, and the redder flame of the match making odd tints and shadows in their faces.

Vjera's shawl had slipped back from her head and her thick tress of red-brown hair had found its way over her shoulder.