"Yes—yes. I shall never come back to Munich." He had been speaking in German, but noticing that the other guests in the room were silent, and thinking that they might listen, he broke off into Russian. "I shall go home, at last," he said, his face brightening perceptibly as his visions of wealth again rose before his eyes. "I shall go home and rest myself for a long time in the country, and then, next winter, perhaps, I will go to Petersburg."
"Well, well, I wish you a pleasant journey," said Schmidt. "So there is to be no mistake about the fortune this time?"
"This time?" repeated the Count, as though not understanding. "Why do you say this time?"
"Because you have so often expected it before," returned the Cossack bluntly, but without malice.
"I do not remember ever saying so," said the other, evidently searching among his recollections.
"Every Tuesday," growled Dumnoff, sipping his peppery liquor. "Every Tuesday since I can remember."
"I think you must be mistaken," said the Count, politely.
Dumnoff grunted something quite incomprehensible, and which might have been taken for the clearing of his huge throat after the inflaming draught. The Cossack was silent, and his bright eyes looked pityingly at his companion.
"And you have begun to put together your parcels for the journey, I see," he observed after a time, when the Count had got his morsel of food and was beginning to eat it. His curiosity gave him no rest.
"Yes," answered the Count, mysteriously. "That is something which I shall probably take with me, as a remembrance of Munich."