"
The policeman, apparently quite satisfied with the porter's story, turned
upon the Count with a blustering and overbearing manner.
"Now, then," he said, roughly, "give an account of yourself. Who are you
and what are you doing here? But that is a foolish question; I know
already that you are a Bohemian and a journeyman tinker."
"A Bohemian? And a journeyman tinker?" repeated the Count, almost
speechless with anger for a moment. "I am neither," he added, endeavouring
to control himself, and settling his refractory collar with one hand. "I
am a Russian gentleman."
"A gentleman--and a Russian," said the policeman, slowly, as though
putting no faith in the first statement and very little in the second. "I
think I can provide you with a lodging for the night," he added,
facetiously.
"Slip past me, jump out of the window and run!" whispered the Cossack in
the Count's ear, in Russian.
"What are you saying in your infernal language?" asked the official.
"My friend advised me to run away," said the Count, coolly sitting down,
as though he were master of the situation. "Unfortunately for me, I was
not taught to use my legs in that way when I was a boy."
"I was," said the Cossack. "Good-evening, Master Policeman." He took his
hat from the peg on the wall where it had hung undisturbed throughout the
confusion, and bowing gravely to the man in uniform made as though he
would go out of the room.
"So, so, not quite so fast, my friend," said the policeman, putting
himself in the way.
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