"Poor Vjera!" he exclaimed kindly, and laying his hand on her shoulder.
"Poor child! I am very sorry for you, poor Vjera--I would do anything to
help you, indeed I would--if I only knew what it should be."
"Then help me to wake up Fischelowitz," answered the girl in a shaken
voice. "I am sure he is at home at this time--"
"I have done all I can. If he will not wake, he will not. Or if he is
awake he will not put his head out of the window, which is much the same
thing so far as we are concerned. By the bye, Vjera, you have not told me
how you came to hear of the row. It is queer that you should have heard of
it--"
"Herr Homolka--you know, my landlord--had seen the Count go by with the
Gigerl and the policemen. He asked some one in the crowd and learned the
story. But it was late when he came home, and he told us--I was sitting up
sewing with his wife--and then I ran here. But do please help me--we can
do something, I am sure."
"I do not see what, short of climbing up the flat walls of the house. But
I am not a lizard, you know."
"We might call. Perhaps they would hear our voices if we called together,"
suggested Vjera, drawing back into the middle of the street and looking up
at the closed windows of the third story.
"Herr Fischelowitz!" she cried, in a shrill, weak tone that seemed to find
no echo in the still air.
"Herr Fischelowitz, Fischelowitz, Fischelowitz!" bawled the Cossack,
taking up the idea and putting it into very effective execution.
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