and this last consideration
determined his action, if he brought the money too late it was to be
feared that Fischelowitz would have shut up the shop, after which there
would be no certainty of finding him. The Count wished to make the
restitution of the money in Akulina's presence, but he was also determined
to give the fifty marks directly to the tobacconist.

He saw that the sun was going down, and that there was no time to be lost.
It occurred to him at the same instant that if he was to pay the debt at
all, he must find money for that purpose, and although, in his own belief,
he was to be master of a large fortune in the course of the evening, no
scheme for raising so considerable a sum as fifty marks presented itself
to his imagination. Poor as he was, he was far more used to lending than
to borrowing, and more accustomed to giving than to either. He regretted,
now, that he had bound himself to pay the debt to-day. It would have been
so easy to name the next day but one. But who could have foreseen that his
friends would miss that particular train and only arrive late in the
evening?

He paced his room in growing anxiety, his trouble increasing in exact
proportion with the decrease of the daylight.

"Fifty marks!" he exclaimed, in dismay, as he realised more completely the
dilemma in which he was placed. "Fifty marks! It is an enormous sum to
find at a moment's notice. If they had only telegraphed me a credit at
once, I could have got it from a bank--a bank--yes--but they do not know
me. That is it. They do not know me. And then, it is late."

The drops of perspiration stood on his pale forehead as he began to walk
again. He glanced at his possessions and turned from the contemplation of
them in renewed despair. Many a time, before, he had sought among his very
few belongings for some object upon which a pawnbroker might advance five
marks, and he had sought in vain. The furniture of the room was not his,
and beyond the furniture the room contained little enough. He had parted
long ago with an old silver watch, of which the chain had even sooner
found its way to the lender's. A long-cherished ring had disappeared last
winter, by an odd coincidence, at the very time when Johann Schmidt's
oldest child was lying ill with diphtheria. As for clothing, he had
nothing to offer. The secrets of his outward appearance were known to him
alone, but they were of a nature to discourage the hope of raising money
on coat or t