“Put some—trees!” exclaimed Nikolai Yevgrafovitch, his eyes staring.
“Yes, put some there. If you didn’t speak the truth, then you must make it true. Come along, get ready. Give me my hat ... and coat. No, not there; in the cupboard.... Umbrella!”
And while Almazof, finding his objections entirely ignored, began to look for the hat and coat, Vera opened drawers and brought out various little boxes and cases.
“Earrings.... No, they’re no good. We shan’t get anything on them. Ah, here’s this ring with the valuable stone. We’ll have to buy that back some time. It would be a pity to lose it. Bracelet ... they won’t give much for that either, it’s old and bent.... Where’s your silver cigar-case, Kolya?”
In five minutes all their valuables were in her hand-bag, and Vera, dressed and ready, looked round for the last time to assure herself she hadn’t overlooked anything.
“Let us go,” she said at last, resolutely.
“But where?” Almazof tried again to protest. “It’s beginning to get dark already, and the place is ten versts away.”
“Stupid! Come along.”
First of all they went to the pawnshop. The pawnbroker had evidently got accustomed long ago to the sight of people in distress, and could not be touched by it. He was so methodical about his work, and took so long to value the things, that Vera felt she should go crazy. What specially vexed her was that the man should test her ring with acid, and then, after weighing it, he valued it at three roubles only.
“But it’s a real brilliant,” said poor Vera. “It cost thirty-seven roubles, and then it was a bargain.”