But his past life at least furnished him with memories, varied, changing,
full of light and life and colour, wherewith to while away an hour's
watching in the night. Still he sat upon his doorstep, watching star after
star as it slowly culminated over the narrow street and set, for him,
behind the nearest house-top. He might have sat there till morning had he
not been at last aware that some one was walking upon the opposite
pavement.
His quick ear caught the soft fall of an almost noiseless footstep and he
could distinguish a shadow a little darker than the surrounding shade,
moving quickly along the wall. He rose to his feet and crossed the street,
not believing, indeed, that the newcomer could be the man he wanted, but
anxious to be fully satisfied that he was not mistaken. He found himself
face to face with a young girl, who stopped at the street door of the
tobacconist's house, just as he reached it. Her head was muffled in
something dark and he could not distinguish her features. She started on
seeing him, hesitated and then laid her hand upon the same knob which
Schmidt had pulled so often in vain.
"It is of no use to ring," he said, quietly. "I have given it up."
"Herr Schmidt!" exclaimed the girl in evident delight. It was Vjera.
"Yes--but, in Heaven's name, Vjera, what are you doing here at this hour
of the night? You ought to be at home and asleep."
"Oh, you have not heard the dreadful news," cried poor Vjera in accents of
distress.
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