"I am afraid it is not very good," answered Vjera doubtfully. "The hair
comes out. I think it must have been a mangy wolf. And there is a bad hole
on one side."

"It was probably badly cured," said the Cossack, who understood furs. "But
I can mend the hole in five minutes, so that nobody will see it."

"We will get it, too. But I am afraid that it will not be nearly enough to
make up the twenty-five marks. They could not possibly give us twenty
marks for the skin, could they?"

"No, indeed, unless you could sell it to some one who does not understand
those things. And the samovar will not bring five, as I said. We must find
something else."

"Let us get the samovar first," said Vjera decisively. "I will wait
downstairs till you get it, and then you will wait for me where I live,
and after that we will go together. I may find something else. Indeed, I
must, or we shall not have enough."

They walked rapidly through the deepening shadows towards Schmidt's home.
Vjera moved, as people do, who are possessed by an idea which must be put
into immediate execution, her head high, her eyes full of light, her lips
set, her step firm. Her companion was surprised to find that he needed to
walk fast in order to keep by her side. He looked at her often, as he had
looked all day, with an expression that showed at once much interest,
considerable admiration and some pity. If he had not been lately brought
to some new opinion concerning the girl he would certainly not have
entered into her wild scheme for calming the Count's excitement without at
least arguing the case lengthily, and discussing all the difficulties