matters to me so much to-day as it did a year ago, as you may imagine.
Thirty-one. It will soon be over for me, at least. In fact I only finish
these two thousand out of kindness to Fischelowitz, because I know he has
a large order to deliver on the day after to-morrow. And, besides, a
gentleman must keep his word even--thirty-two--in the matter of making
cigarettes for other people. But the work on this batch shall be a parting
gift of my goodwill to Fischelowitz, who is an honest fellow and has
understood my painful situation all along. To-morrow at this time, I shall
be far away. Thirty-three."

The Count drew a long breath of relief in the anticipation of his release
from captivity and hard labour. Vjera dropped her glass tube and her
little pieces of paper and looked sadly at him, while he was speaking.

"By the by," observed the Cossack, "to-day is Tuesday. I had quite
forgotten. So you really leave us to-morrow."

"Yes. It is all settled at last, and I have had letters. It is
to-morrow--and this is my last hundred."

"At what time?" inquired Dumnoff, with a rough laugh. "Is it to be in the
morning or in the afternoon?"

"I do not know," answered the Count, quietly and with an air of
conviction. "It will certainly be before night."

"Provided you get the news in time to ask us to the feast," jeered the
other, "we shall all be as happy as you yourself."

"Thirty-four," said the Count, who had rolled the last cigarette very