over--ah, if it were not a debt of honour!--but there is no time to be
lost. It is almost dark already. Go home, dear Vjera, go home. I cannot go
with you to-night, for I must find this money. Good-night--and then
to-morrow--I have not forgotten, and you must not forget--but there is no
time now--good-night!"

He suddenly broke away from her side and began walking quickly in the
opposite direction, his head bent down, his arms swinging by his side. She
ran after him and again took his arm, and looked into his face.

"You must not go away like this," she said, so firmly and with so much
authority that he stood still. "You have only half explained the trouble
to me, but I can help you. A debt of honour, you say--what will happen if
you do not pay it?"

"I must die," answered the Count. "I could never respect myself again."

"You have borrowed this money of Fischelowitz and promised to pay it
to-day? Is that it? Tell me."

"No--I never borrowed it. No, no--it was that villain, last winter, who
gave him the Gigerl--"

"And Fischelowitz expects you to pay that!" cried Vjera, indignantly. "It
is impossible."

"When I took the Gigerl away last night I promised to bring the fifty
marks by to-night. I gave my word, my word as a gentleman, Vjera, which I
cannot break--my word, as a gentleman," he repeated with something of his
old dignity.