"He will go mad in that horrible prison, raving
mad, so that they will have to--to hold him--" she sobbed and then
recovered herself by an effort. "Or else--he will fall ill and die, after
it--" Here she broke down completely and stopping in the middle of the
street began crying bitterly, clutching at Schmidt's arm as though to keep
from falling.
"I should not wonder," he said, but she fortunately did not catch the
words.
He was very sorry for the poor girl, and felt inclined to take her in his
arms and carry her to her home, for he saw that she was weak and exhausted
as well as overcome by her anxiety. Before resorting to such a measure,
however, he thought it best to try to encourage her to walk on.
"Nothing that one expects, ever happens," he said confidently, and passing
his arm through hers, as though to lead her away. "Come, you will be at
home presently and then you will go to bed and in the morning, before you
are at the shop, everything will have been set right, and I daresay the
Count will be there before you, and looking as well as ever."
"How can you say that, when you know that he never comes on Wednesdays!"
exclaimed Vjera through her tears. "I am sure something dreadful will
happen to him. No, not that way--not that way!"
Schmidt was trying to guide her round a sharp corner, but she resisted
him.
"But that is the way home," protested the Cossack.
"I know, but I cannot go home, until I have seen where he is. I must
go--you must not prevent me!"
"To the police-station?" inquired Schmidt in considerable astonishment.
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