The three men contemplated it in silence, and the other guests turned curious glances towards it.

Dumnoff, as usual, laughed hoarsely.
"Rather the worse for wear," he observed.
"Kreuzmillionendonnerwetter! That is my Gigerl!" roared a deep German voice across the room.
The three Russians started and looked round quickly.

One of the porters, a burly man with an angry scowl on his honest face, was already on his legs and was striding towards the table.
"That is my Gigerl!" he repeated, laying one heavy hand upon the board, and thrusting the forefinger of the other under the doll's nose.
Dumnoff stared at him with an expression which showed that he did not in the least understand what was happening.

Johann Schmidt's keen black eyes looked wonderingly from the porter to the Count, while the latter leaned back in his chair, contemplating the angry man with a calm surprise which proved how little faith he placed in the assertion of possession.
"You are under a mistake," he said, with great politeness.

"This doll is the property of Herr Fischelowitz, the well-known tobacconist, and has stood in the window of his shop nearly four months.