Through the
glass door he could see that Fischelowitz was comfortably installed in a
chair behind the counter, contentedly smoking one of his own best
cigarettes, and smiling happily to himself through the fragrant cloud. If
the tobacconist's wife had been present, the Count would have gone away
without entering, for he did not like her, and had reason to suspect that
she hated him, which was indeed the case. But Akulina was nowhere to be
seen, the shop looked bright and cheerful, the Count was tired, he pushed
the door and entered. Fischelowitz turned his head without modifying his
smile, and seeing who his visitor was nodded familiarly. The Count raised
his hat a little from his head and immediately replaced it.
"Good-evening, Herr Fischelowitz," he said, speaking, as usual, in German.
"Good-evening, Count," answered the tobacconist, cheerfully. "Sit down,
and light a cigarette. What is the news?"
"Great news with me, for to-morrow," said the other, bending his head as
he stooped over the nickel-plated lamp on the counter, in which a tiny
flame burned for the convenience of customers. "To-morrow, at this time, I
shall be on my way to Petersburg."
"Well, I hope so, for your sake," was the good-humoured reply. "But I am
afraid it will always be to-morrow, Herr Graf."
The Count shook his head after staring for a few seconds at his employer,
and then smoked quietly, as though he attached no weight to the remark.
Fischelowitz looked curiously at him, and during a brief moment the smile
faded from his face.
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