An artist, strolling supperwards from his studio, came down their side of the way.

He stopped and looked at them.
"Has anything happened ?" he asked kindly.

"Can I be of any use ?" Vjera looked up with a frightened glance.

The Cossack paid no attention to the stranger.
"Oh no, thank you--thank you, sir, it is nothing--only a little piece of work to finish." The artist gave one more look and passed on, wishing that he could have had pencil and paper and light at his command for five minutes.
"There," said Schmidt triumphantly.

"It is done, and very well done.