Lizaveta Ivanovna was sitting in her room, still in her ball dress,
lost in deep thought. On returning home, she had hastily dismissed the
chambermaid, who very reluctantly came forward to assist her, saying
that she would undress herself, and with a trembling heart had gone up
to her own room, expecting to find Hermann there, but yet hoping not
to find him. At the first glance he was not there, and she thanked her
fate for having prevented him keeping the appointment. She sat down
without undressing, and began to call to mind all the circumstances
which in a short time had carried her so far. It was not three weeks
since the time when she had first seen the young officer from the
window--and yet she was already in correspondence with him, and he had
succeeded in inducing her to grant him a nocturnal interview. She knew
his name only through his having written it at the bottom of some of
his letters; she had never spoken to him, had never heard his voice,
and had never heard him spoken of until that evening. But, strange to
say, that very evening at the ball, Tomsky, being piqued with the
young Princess Pauline N----, who, contrary to her usual custom, did
not flirt with him, wished to revenge himself by assuming an air of
indifference: he therefore engaged Lizaveta Ivanovna, and danced an
endless mazurka with her. During the whole of the time he kept teasing
her about her partiality for Engineer officers, he assured her that he
knew far more than she imagined, and some of his jests were so happily
aimed, that Lizaveta thought several times that her secret was known
to him.
"From whom have you learned all this?" she asked, smiling.
"From a friend of a person very well known to you," replied Tomsky,
"from a very distinguished man."
"And whom is this distinguished man?"
"His name is Hermann." Lizaveta made no reply, but her hands and feet
lost all sense of feeling.
"This Hermann," continued Tomsky, "is a man of romantic personality.
He has the profile of a Napoleon, and the soul of a Mephistopheles. I
believe that he has at least three crimes upon his conscience. How
pale you have become!"
"I have a headache. But what did this Hermann, or whatever his name
is, tell you?"
"Hermann is very dissatisfied with his friend. He says that in his
place he would act very differently. I even think that Hermann himself
has designs upon you; at least, he listens very attentively to all
that his friend has to say about you."
"And where has he seen me?"
"In church, perhaps; or on the parade. God alone knows where. It may
have been in your room, while you were asleep, for there is nothing
that he--"
Three ladies approaching him with the question: "oubli ou regret?"
interrupted the conversation, which had become so tantalizingly
interesting to Lizaveta.
The lady chosen by Tomsky was the Princess Pauline herself. She
succeeded in effecting a reconciliation with him during the numerous
turns of the dance, after which he conducted her to her chair. On
returning to his place, Tomsky thought no more either of Hermann or
Lizaveta. She longed to renew the interrupted conversation, but the
mazurka came to an end, and shortly afterwards the old Countess took
her departure.
Tomsky's words were nothing more than the customary small talk of the
dance, but they sank deep into the soul of the young dreamer. The
portrait, sketched by Tomsky, coincided with the picture she had
formed within her own mind, and, thanks to the latest romances, the
ordinary countenance of her admirer became invested with attributes
capable of alarming her and fascinating her imagination at the same
time. She was now sitting with her bare arms crossed, and with her
head, still adorned with flowers, sunk upon her uncovered bosom.
Suddenly the door opened and Hermann entered. She shuddered.
"Where were you?" she asked in a terrified whisper.
"In the old Countess's bedroom," replied Hermann. "I have just left
her. The Countess is dead."
"My God! What do you say?"
"And I am afraid," added Hermann, "that I am the cause of her death."
Lizaveta looked at him, and Tomsky's words found an echo in her soul:
"This man has at least three crimes upon his conscience!" Hermann sat
down by the window near her, and related all that had happened.
Lizaveta listened to him in terror. So all those passionate letters,
those ardent desires, this bold, obstinate pursuit--all this was not
love! Money--that was what his soul yearned for! She could not satisfy
his desire and make him happy. The poor girl had been nothing but the
blind tool of a robber, of the murderer of her aged benefactress! She
wept bitter tears of agonized repentance. Hermann gazed at her in
silence; his heart, too, was a prey to violent emotion, but neither
the tears of the poor girl, nor the wonderful charm of her beauty,
enhanced by her grief, could produce any impression upon his hardened
soul. He felt no pricking of conscience at the thought of the dead old
woman. One thing only grieved him: the irreparable loss of the secret
from which he had expected to obtain great wealth.
"You are a monster!" said Lizaveta at last.
"I did not wish for her death," replied Hermann, "my pistol was not
loaded." Both remained silent. The day began to dawn. Lizaveta
extinguished her candle, a pale light illumined her room. She wiped
her tear-stained eyes, and raised them towards Hermann. He was sitting
near the window, with his arms crossed, and with a fierce frown upon
his forehead. In this attitude he bore a striking resemblance to the
portrait of Napoleon. This resemblance struck Lizaveta even.
"How shall I get you out of the house?" said she at last. "I thought
of conducting you down the secret staircase."
"I will go alone," he answered.
Lizaveta arose, took from her drawer a key, handed it to Hermann, and
gave him the necessary instructions. Hermann pressed her cold, inert
hand, kissed her bowed head, and left the room.
He descended the winding staircase, and once more entered the
Countess's bedroom. The dead old lady sat as if petrified, her face
expressed profound tranquillity. Hermann stopped before her, and gazed
long and earnestly at her, as if he wished to convince himself of the
terrible reality. At last he entered the cabinet, felt behind the
tapestry for the door, and then began to descend the dark staircase,
filled with strange emotions. "Down this very staircase," thought he,
"perhaps coming from the very same room, and at this very same hour
sixty years ago, there may have glided, in an embroidered coat, with
his hair dressed _a l'oiseau royal_, and pressing to his heart his
three-cornered hat, some young gallant who has long been mouldering in
the grave, but the heart of his aged mistress has only today ceased to
beat."
At the bottom of the staircase Hermann found a door, which he opened
with a key, and then traversed a corridor which conducted him into the
street.
V
Three days after the fatal night, at nine o'clock in the morning,
Hermann repaired to the Convent of ----, where the last honors were to
be paid to the mortal remains of the old Countess. Although feeling no
remorse, he could not altogether stifle the voice of conscience, which
said to him: "You are the murderer of the old woman!" In spite of his
entertaining very little religious belief, he was exceedingly
superstitious; and believing that the dead Countess might exercise an
evil influence on his life, he resolved to be present at her obsequies
in order to implore her pardon.
The church was full. It was with difficulty that Hermann made his way
through the crowd of people. The coffin was placed upon a rich
catafalque beneath a velvet baldachin. The deceased Countess lay
within it, with her hands crossed upon her breast, with a lace cap
upon her head, and dressed in a white satin robe. Around the
catafalque stood the members of her household; the servants in black
caftans, with armorial ribbons upon their shoulders and candles in
their hands; the relatives--children, grandchildren, and
great-grandchildren--in deep mourning.
Nobody wept, tears would have been an affectation. The Countess was so
old that her death could have surprised nobody, and her relatives had
long looked upon her as being out of the world. A famous preacher
delivered the funeral sermon. In simple and touching words he
described the peaceful passing away of the righteous, who had passed
long years in calm preparation for a Christian end. "The angel of
death found her," said the orator, "engaged in pious meditation and
waiting for the midnight bridegroom."
The service concluded amidst profound silence. The relatives went
forward first to take a farewell of the corpse. Then followed the
numerous guests, who had come to render the last homage to her who for
so many years had been a participator in their frivolous amusements.
After these followed the members of the Countess's household. The last
of these an old woman of the same age as the deceased. Two young women
led her forward by the hand. She had not strength enough to bow down
to the ground--she merely shed a few tears, and kissed the cold hand
of the mistress.
Herman now resolved to approach the coffin. He knelt down upon the
cold stones, and remained in that position for some minutes; at last
he arose as pale as the deceased Countess herself; he ascended the
steps of the catafalque and bent over the corpse.... At that moment it
seemed to him that the dead woman darted a mocking look at him and
winked with one eye. Hermann started back, took a false step, and fell
to the ground. Several persons hurried forward and raised him up. At
the same moment Lizaveta Ivanovna was borne fainting into the porch of
the church. This episode disturbed for some minutes the solemnity of
the gloomy ceremony. Among the congregation arose a deep murmur, and a
tall, thin chamberlain, a near relative of the deceased, whispered in
the ear of an Englishman, who was standing near him, that the young
officer was a natural son of the Countess, to which the Englishman
coldly replied "Oh!"
During the whole of that day Hermann was strangely excited. Repairing
to an out of the way restaurant to dine, he drank a great deal of
wine, contrary to his usual custom, in the hope of deadening his
inward agitation. But the wine only served to excite his imagination
still more. On returning home he threw himself upon his bed without
undressing, and fell into a deep sleep.
When he woke up it was already night, and the moon was shining into
the room. He looked at his watch: it was a quarter to three. Sleep had
left him; he sat down upon his bed, and thought of the funeral of the
old Countess.
At that moment somebody in the street looked in at his window and
immediately passed on again. Hermann paid no attention to this
incident. A few moments afterwards he heard the door of his anteroom
open. Hermann thought that it was his orderly, drunk as usual,
returning from some nocturnal expedition, but presently he heard
footsteps that were unknown to him: somebody was walking softly over
the floor in slippers. The door opened, and a woman dressed in white
entered the room. Hermann mistook her for his old nurse, and wondered
what could bring her there at that hour of the night. But the white
woman glided rapidly across the room and stood before him--and Hermann
thought he recognized the Countess.
"I have come to you against my wish," she said in a firm voice, "but I
have been ordered to grant your request. Three, seven, ace, will win
for you if played in succession, but only on these conditions: that
you do not play more than one card in twenty-four-hours, and that you
never play again during the rest of your life. I forgive you my death,
on condition that you marry my companion, Lizaveta Ivanovna."
With these words she turned round very quietly, walked with a
shuffling gait towards the door, and disappeared. Hermann heard the
street door open and shut, and again he saw someone look in at him
through the window.
For a long time Hermann could not recover himself. He then rose up and
entered the next room. His orderly was lying asleep upon the floor,
and he had much difficulty in waking him. The orderly was drunk as
usual, and no information could be obtained from him. The street door
was locked. Hermann returned to his room, lit his candle, and wrote
down all the details of his vision.