A Cigarette-Maker's Romance Part 8

He turned his head, and glanced at the Count's spare, sinewy figure.

"You are light, too," he continued, "and you could not have hurt yourself.

I cannot understand why you stayed."

"Dumnoff, my friend," said the Count, gravely, "we look at things in a different way. It is my duty to tell you that I think you behaved in the most honourable manner, under the circ.u.mstances, and I am deeply indebted to you for the gallant way in which you came back to stand by me, when you were yourself free. In a n.o.bler warfare, such an action would have been rewarded with a cross of honour, as it truly deserved. It is true, as well, that you were not so intimately connected with the main question at stake, as I was, since it was I who was suspected of being in possession of unlawfully gotten goods. You were consequently, I think, at liberty to take your freedom if you could get it, without consulting your conscience further. Now my position was, and is, very different. I do not speak of any personal prejudice against the mere act of running away, considered as an immediate means of escape from disagreeable circ.u.mstances, with the hope of ultimate immunity from all unpleasant consequences. That is a matter of early education."

"I had very little early education," observed Dumnoff. "And none at all afterwards."

"My friend, it is not for you and me to enter into the history of our misfortunes. We have met in the vat of poverty to be seethed alike in the brew of unhappiness. We have sat at the same daily labour, we have shared often the same fare, but there is that in each of us which we can keep sacred from the contamination of confidence, and which will withstand even the thrusts of poverty. I mean our individual selves, the better part of us, the n.o.bler element which has suffered, as distinguished from the grosser, which may yet enjoy. But I am wandering a little. I am afraid I sometimes do. I return to the point. For me to take advantage of your generous attempt to free me would have been to act as though I had a moral cause for flight. In other words, it would have been to acknowledge that I had committed some dishonourable action."

"It seems to me that to get away would have been the best way out of it.

They would not have caught you if you had trusted to me, and if they did not catch you they could not prove anything against you."

"The suspicion would have remained, and the disgrace in my own eyes,"

answered the Count. "The question of physical fear is very different. I have been told that it depends upon the nerves and the action of the heart, and that courage is greatly increased by the presence of nourishment in the stomach. The same cannot be said of moral bravery, which proceeds more from the fear of seeming contemptible in our own eyes than from the wish to seem honourable in the estimation of others."

"I daresay," said Dumnoff, who was growing sleepy and who understood very little of his companion's homily.

"Precisely," replied the latter. "And yet even the question of physical courage is very complicated in the present case. It cannot be said, for instance, that you ran away from physical fear, after giving proof of such astonishing physical superiority. Your deeds this evening make the labours of Hercules dwindle to the proportions of mere mountebank's tricks."

"Was anybody badly injured?" asked Dumnoff, suddenly aroused by the pleasing recollections of the contest.

"I believe not seriously; I think I saw everybody whom you upset get on his feet sooner or later."

"Well," said Dumnoff with a sigh, "it cannot be helped. I did my best."

"I should think that you would be glad," suggested the Count. "You showed your prowess without any fatal result."

"Anything for a change in this dull life," grumbled the peasant with an air of dissatisfaction.

"With such a prospect of immediate change before me, I suppose I ought not to blame your longing for excitement. Nevertheless I consider it fortunate that nothing worse happened."

"You might take me with you to Russia," said Dumnoff, with a short laugh.

"That would be an excitement, at least."

"After the way in which you have stood by me this evening, I will not refuse you anything. If you wish it, I will take you with me. I take it for granted that you are not prevented by any especial reason from entering our country."

"Not that I am aware of," laughed Dumnoff. "Do you know how I got to Germany? A gentleman from our part of the country brought me with him as coachman. One day the horses ran away in Baden-Baden, and he turned me out of the house."

"That was very inconsiderate of him," observed the Count.

"It is true that both the horses were killed," said Dumnoff, thoughtfully.

"And the prince broke his arm, and the carriage was in good condition for firewood, and possibly I was a little gay--just a little--though I was so much upset by the accident that I could not remember exactly what happened before. Still--"

"Your conduct on that particular day seems to have left much to be desired," remarked the Count with some austerity.

"It has been my bad luck to be in a great many accidents," said the other.

"But that one was remarkable. As far as I can recollect, we drove into the Grand Duke's four-in-hand on one side and drove out of it on the other. I never drove through a Grand Duke's equipage on any other occasion. It was lucky that his Serenity did not happen to be in it just at the time. There you have my history in a nutsh.e.l.l. As you say you will take me with you, I thought you ought to know."

"Certainly, certainly," answered the Count, vaguely. "I will take you with me--but not as coachman, I think, Dumnoff. We may find some more favourable sphere for your great physical strength."

"Anything you like. It is a good joke to dream of such a journey, is it not? Especially when one is locked up for the night in the police-station."

"It is certainly a relief to contemplate the prospect of such a change to-morrow," said the Count, his expression brightening in the gloom.

For a few moments there was silence between the two men. Dumnoff's small eyes fixed themselves on the shadowy outlines of his companion's face, as though trying to solve a problem far too complicated for his dull intellect.

"I wonder whether you are really mad," he said slowly, after a prolonged mental effort.

The Count started slightly and stared at the ex-coachman with a frightened look.

"Mad?" he repeated, nervously. "Who says I am mad? Why do you ask the question?"

"Most people say so," replied the other, evidently without any intention of giving pain. "Everybody who works with us thinks so."

"Everybody? Everybody? I think you are dreaming, Dumnoff. What do you mean?"

"I mean that they think so because you have those queer fits of believing yourself a rich count every week, from Tuesday night till Thursday morning. Schmidt was saying only yesterday to poor Vjera--"

"Vjera? Does she believe it too?" asked the Count in an unsteady voice, not heeding the rest of the speech.

"Of course," said Dumnoff, carelessly. "Schmidt was saying to me only yesterday that you were going to have a worse attack of it than usual because you were so silent."

"Vjera, too!" repeated the Count in a low voice. "And no one ever told me--" He pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes.

"Tell me"--Dumnoff began in the tone of jocular familiarity which he considered confidential--"tell me--the whole thing is just a joke of yours to amuse us all, is it not? You do not really believe that you are a count, any more than I really believe that you are mad, you know. You do not act like a madman, except when you let the police catch you and lock you up for the night, instead of running away like a sensible man."

The Count's face grew bright again all at once. In the present state of his hopes no form of doubt seemed able to take a permanent hold of him.

"No, I am not mad," he said. "But on the other hand, Dumnoff, it is my conviction that you are exceedingly drunk. No other hypothesis can account for your very singular remarks about me."

"Oh, I am drunk, am I?" laughed the peasant. "It is very likely, and in that case I had better go to sleep. Good-night, and do not forget that you are to take me with you to Russia."

"I will not forget," said the Count.

Dumnoff stretched his heavy limbs on the wooden pallet, rolled his great head once or twice from side to side until his fur-like hair made something like a cushion and then, in the course of three minutes, fell fast asleep.

The Count sat upright in his place, drumming with his fingers upon one knee.

"It is a wonder that I am not mad," he said to himself. "But Vjera never thought it of me--and that fellow is evidently the worse for liquor."

CHAPTER VI.

Johann Schmidt had not fled from the scene of action out of any consideration for his personal safety. He was, indeed, a braver man than Dumnoff, in proportion as he was more intelligent, and though of a very different temper, by no means averse to a fight if it came into his way.

He had foreseen what was sure to happen, and had realised sooner than any one else that the only person who could set everything straight was Fischelowitz himself. So soon as he was clear of pursuit, therefore, he turned in the direction of the tobacconist's dwelling, walking as quickly as he could where there were many people and running at the top of his speed through such empty by-streets as lay in the direct line of his course. He rushed up the three flights of steps and rang sharply at the door.