He sat down and
waited.
Nothing happened. The clocks chimed the quarters up to one in the morning,
a quarter-past, half-past--Schmidt was growing sleepy. The Count breathed
regularly and lay in his bed without moving. Then, at last, the Cossack
rose, looked at his friend once more, blew out the lamp, felt his way to
the door and left the room. As he walked home through the quiet streets he
swore that he would take vengeance upon Akulina, by producing the letter
and reading it in her husband's presence, and before the assembled
establishment, before the Count made his appearance. It was indeed not
probable that he would come at all, considering all that he had suffered,
though Schmidt knew that he generally came on Thursday morning, evidently
weary and exhausted, but unconscious of the delusion which had possessed
him during the previous day. Possibly, he was subject to a similar fit
every Wednesday night, and had kept the fact a secret. Schmidt had always
wondered what happened to him at the moment when he suddenly forgot his
imaginary fortune and returned to his everyday senses.
The morning dawned at last, and it was Thursday. As there was no necessity
for liberating the Count from arrest to-day, Akulina roused her husband
with the lark, gave him his coffee promptly and sent him off to open the
shop and catch the early customer. Before the shutters had been up more
than a quarter of an hour, and while Fischelowitz was still sniffing the
fresh morning air, Johann Schmidt appeared.
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