"For what?"

"For many things, all of which have proceeded from your kindness of heart
and have resulted in making my life bearable during the past months--or
years. I keep little account of time. How long is it since I have been
making cigarettes for Fischelowitz, at the rate of three marks a
thousand?"

"Ever since I can remember," answered Vjera. "It is six years since I came
to work there as a little girl."

"Six years? That is not possible! You must be mistaken, it cannot be so
long."

Vjera said nothing, but turned her face away with an expression of pain.

"Yes, it is a long time, since all that happened," said the Count,
thoughtfully. "I was a young man then, I am old now."

"Old! How can you say anything so untrue!" Vjera exclaimed with
considerable indignation.

"Yes, I am old. It is no wonder. We say at home that 'strange earth dies
without wind.' A foreign land will make old bones of a man without the
help of years. That is what Germany has done for me. And yet, how much
older I should be but for you, dear Vjera! Shall we sit down here, in this
quiet place, under the trees? You know it is all over to-morrow, and I am
free at last. I would like to tell you my story."