Johann Schmidt's curiosity was very great, as has been seen
on previous occasions. He did his best to control it, for some time, only
trying to guess from the general appearance of the limp parcel what it
might contain. But his ingenuity failed to solve the problem. At last he
could bear it no longer. They were entering the street where the
pawnbroker's shop was situated when his resolution broke down.
"Is it a piece of lace?" he asked at a venture. "If it is, you know, and
if it is good, it may be worth all the other things together."
"No. It is not a piece of lace," answered the girl. "I will tell you what
it is, if we do not get enough without it."
"I only thought," explained the Cossack, "that if we were going to try and
pawn it, I had better know--"
"We cannot pawn it," said Vjera decisively. "It will have to be sold. Let
us go in together." She spoke the last words as they reached the door of
the pawn-shop.
"I could save you the trouble," Schmidt suggested, offering to take the
wolf's skin. But Vjera would not give it up. She felt that she must see
everything done herself, if only to distract her thoughts from more
painful matters.
The place was half full of people, most of them with anxious faces, and
all having some object or other in their hands. The pawn-shops do their
best business in the evening. A man and a woman, both advanced in middle
age, well fed, parsimoniously washed and possessing profiles of an outline
disquieting to Christian prejudices, leaned over the counter, handled the
articles offered them, consulted each other in incomprehensible
monosyllables, talked volubly to the customers in oily undertones and from
time to time counted out small doses of change which they gave to the
eager recipients, accompanied by little slips of paper on which there were
both printed and written words.
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