It has been already noticed in the course of this
story that, when the Count did not know where he was going, he was
generally making the best of his way to the establishment in which so much
of his time was passed. This is exactly what took place on the present
occasion. Conscious only of his debt, and not knowing where to find money
with which to pay it, he was unwittingly hurrying towards the very place
in which the payment was to be made, and, within a quarter of an hour of
his leaving his lodging, he found himself standing on the pavement, over
against the tobacconist's shop, stupidly gazing at the glass door, the
well-known sign and the familiar, dilapidated chalet of cigarettes which
held a prominent place in the show window. No longer ago than yesterday
afternoon the little Swiss cottage had been flanked by the Wiener Gigerl,
whose smart red coat and insolent face had been the cause of so much
disaster and anxiety during the past twenty-four hours. The very fact that
the doll was no longer there, in its accustomed place, served to remind
the Count of his rash promise to pay the money and dangerously increased
the excitement which already possessed him. He wiped the cold drops from
his brow and leaned for a moment against the brick wall behind him. He was
dizzy, confused and tired.
The tormenting thought that was driving him recalled his failing
consciousness of outer things. He straightened himself again and made a
step forward, as though he would cross the street, but paused again before
his foot had left the pavement.
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