"
"He is an angel of goodness and kindness," said Vjera softly.
"I know he is. Is he not always helping others when he is starving
himself? Now what I say is this. No man who is as good and as honest as he
is, can have become so mad about a mere piece of fancy--about an invented
lie, to be plain. What there is in his story I do not know, but I am sure
that there was truth in it once. It may have been a long time ago, but
there was a time once, when he had some reason to expect the money and the
titles he talks of every Tuesday evening."
"Do you really think that?" asked Vjera, eagerly. Her own understanding
had never gone so far in its deduction.
"I am sure of it. I know nothing about mad people, but I am sure that no
honest man ever invented a story out of nothing and then became crazy
because it did not turn out true."
"But you, who have travelled so much, Herr Schmidt, have you ever heard
the name before--have you ever heard of such a family?"
"I have a bad memory for names, but I believe I have. I cannot be sure. It
makes no difference. It is a good Russian name, in any case, and a
gentleman's name, I should think. Of course I only mean that I--that you
should not think that because I--in fact," blundered out the good man,
"you must not suppose that you will be a real countess, you know."
"I?" exclaimed Vjera, with a nervous, hysterical laugh, which the Cossack
supposed to be genuine.
"That is all I wanted to say," he continued in a tone of relief, as though
he felt that he had done his duty in warning the poor girl of a possible
disappointment.
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