Akulina was furious, but she did not know what to do. Everybody began
talking together.
"Of course it is the Barina's handwriting," said Dumnoff confidently. He
supposed it was always safe to follow Schmidt's lead, when he followed any
one.
"Of course it is," chimed in the insignificant Anna.
"You--you minx--you flatter-cat, you little serpent!" cried Akulina,
speaking three languages at once in her excitement. "Go--get along--go to
your work--"
"No, no, stay!" exclaimed the Cossack authoritatively. "Do you know what
this is?" he asked of all present again. "Our good mistress, here, has for
some reason or other been trying to make the Count worse by having sham
letters posted to him from home--"
"It is a lie! A base, abominable lie! Turn the man out, Christian
Gregorovitch! Turn him out, or send for the police."
"Turn him out yourself," answered the tobacconist phlegmatically.
"Posted to him from home," continued the Cossack, "and telling him that
his father and brother are dead and that he has come into property and the
like. What do you think of that?"
"It is a shame," growled Dumnoff, beginning to understand.
The girl laughed foolishly.
"I swear to you," began Akulina, crimson with anger. "I swear to you by
all--"
"Customers, customers!" exclaimed Fischelowitz in a stage whisper. "Quiet,
I tell you!" He made a rush for the other side of the counter, and briskly
assumed his professional smile. The others fell back into the corners.
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