"I have been called by worse names than
that in my time!"
"I have not," answered the Count, with sudden coolness. "However, between
me and Fischelowitz and the Gigerl, she grew so angry that she struck the
only one of us three against whom she dared lift hand. That member of the
company chanced to be the unfortunate doll. And then I promised that
to-morrow I would pay the money, and I made Fischelowitz give it to me in
a piece of newspaper, and there it is."
"What a terrible smash there must have been in the shop!" said Dumnoff. "I
would like to have seen the lady's face."
In their Russian speech, the difference between the original social
standing of the three men who now worked as equals, was well defined by
their way of speaking of Fischelowitz's wife. To Dumnoff, mujik by origin
and by nature, she was "barina," the town "lady," to the Cossack she was
"chosjaika," the "mistress," the wife of the "patron"--to the Count she
was Akulina, and when he addressed her he called her Akulina Feodorovna,
adding the derivative of her father's name in accordance with the
universal Russian custom.
"Let us see the doll," said Schmidt, still curious. The Count, whose
eating had been interrupted by the telling of his story, pushed the parcel
towards the Cossack with one hand, while using his fork with the other.
Johann Schmidt carefully unwrapped the newspaper and exposed the
unfortunate Gigerl to view. Then with both hands he set it up before him,
raising the limp figure from the waist, and trying to put it into
position, until it almost recovered something of its old look of
insolence, though the eye-glass was broken and the little white hat sadly
battered.
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