enity did not happen to be in it just at the time. There
you have my history in a nutshell. As you say you will take me with you, I
thought you ought to know."

"Certainly, certainly," answered the Count, vaguely. "I will take you with
me--but not as coachman, I think, Dumnoff. We may find some more
favourable sphere for your great physical strength."

"Anything you like. It is a good joke to dream of such a journey, is it
not? Especially when one is locked up for the night in the
police-station."

"It is certainly a relief to contemplate the prospect of such a change
to-morrow," said the Count, his expression brightening in the gloom.

For a few moments there was silence between the two men. Dumnoff's small
eyes fixed themselves on the shadowy outlines of his companion's face, as
though trying to solve a problem far too complicated for his dull
intellect.

"I wonder whether you are really mad," he said slowly, after a prolonged
mental effort.

The Count started slightly and stared at the ex-coachman with a frightened
look.

"Mad?" he repeated, nervously. "Who says I am mad? Why do you ask the
question?"

"Most people say so," replied the other, evidently without any intention
of giving pain. "Everybody who works with us thinks so."

"Everybody? Everybody? I think you are dreaming, Dumnoff. What do you
mean?"

"I mean that they think so because you have those queer fits of believing
yourself a rich count every week, from Tuesday night till Thursday
morning. Schmidt was saying only yesterday to poor Vjera--"

"Vjera? Does she believe it too?" asked the Count in an unsteady voice,
not heeding the rest of the speech.

"Of course," said Dumnoff, carelessly. "Schmidt was saying to me only
yesterday that you were going to have a worse attack of it than usual
because you were so silent."

"Vjera, too!" repeated the Count in a low voice. "And no one ever told
me--" He passed his hand over his eyes.

"Tell me"--Dumnoff began in the tone of jocular familiarity which he
considered confidential--"tell me--the whole thing is just a joke of yours
to amuse us all, is it not? You do not really believe that you are a
count, any more than I really believe that you are mad, you know. You do
not act like a madman, except when you let the police catch you and lock
you up for the night, instead of running away like a sensible man."

The Count's face grew bright again all at once. In the present state of
his hopes no form