"Akulina," said Fischelowitz, thoughtfully, as the door closed, "that man is a gentleman, say what you please."
"A pretty gentleman," laughed Akulina, putting the money into the till. "A gentleman indeed--why, look at his coat!"
"And you are a fool, Akulina," added Fischelowitz, handling his india-rubber stamp.
"Thank you; but for my foolery you would be fifty marks poorer to-night, Christian Gregorovitch. A gentleman, pah!"
The Count had drawn Vjera's willing arm through his, and they were walking slowly away together.
"I must be going home," she said, reluctantly. "The little sister will be crying for me. I cannot leave her any longer."
"Not till I have thanked you, dear," he answered, pressing her arm to his side. "But I will go with you to your door, and thank you all the way--though the way is far too short for all I have to say."
"I have done nothing--it has really cost me nothing." Vjera squeezed her limp parcel under her shawl, and felt that she was speaking the truth.
"I cannot believe that, Vjera," said the Count. "You could not have found so much money so quickly, without making some great sacrifice. But I will give it back to you--"
"Oh no--no," she cried, earnestly. "Make no promises to me. Think what this promise has cost you. When you have the money, you may give it back if you choose--but it would make me so unhappy if you promised."
"Would it, child? And yet, my friends are waiting for me, and they have money for me, too. Then, I will only say that I will give it back to you as soon as possible. Is that right?"
"Yes--and nothing more than that. And as for thanking me--what have I done that needs thanks? Would you not have done as much for me if--if, for instance, I had been ill, and could not pay the rent of the room? And then--think of the happiness I have had!"
The words were spoken so simply and it was so clear that they were true, that the Count found it hard to answer. Not because he had nothing to express, but because the words for the expression could not be found. Again he pressed her arm.
"Vjera," he said, when they had walked some distance farther, "it is of no use to speak of this. There is that between you and me which makes speech contemptible and words ridiculous. There is only one thing that I can do, Vjera dearest. I can love you, dear, with all my heart. Will you take my love for thanks--and my devotion for gratitude? Will you, dear? Will you remember what you promised and what I promised last night? As soon as all is right, to-morrow, will you be my wife?"