"It is six years since I came
to work there as a little girl."
"Six years? That is not possible! You must be mistaken, it cannot be so
long."
Vjera said nothing, but turned her face away with an expression of pain.
"Yes, it is a long time, since all that happened," said the Count,
thoughtfully. "I was a young man then, I am old now."
"Old! How can you say anything so untrue!" Vjera exclaimed with
considerable indignation.
"Yes, I am old. It is no wonder. We say at home that 'strange earth dies
without wind.' A foreign land will make old bones of a man without the
help of years. That is what Germany has done for me. And yet, how much
older I should be but for you, dear Vjera! Shall we sit down here, in this
quiet place, under the trees? You know it is all over to-morrow, and I am
free at last. I would like to tell you my story."
Vjera, who was tired of the close atmosphere of the workroom and whose
strength was not enough to let her walk far with pleasure, sat down upon
the green bench willingly enough, but the nervous look of pain had not
disappeared from her face.
"Is it of any use to tell it to me again?" she asked, sadly, as she leaned
against the painted backboard.
The Count produced a cigarette and gravely lighted it, before he answered
her, and when he spoke he seemed to attach little or no importance to her
question.
"You see," he said, "it is all different now, and I can look at it from a
different point of view. Formerly when I spoke of it, I am afraid that I
spoke bitterly, for, of course, I could not foresee that it could all come
right again so soon, so very soon.
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