The Continental Classics, Volume XVIII | Page 5

his cap. Lizaveta felt alarmed, though she knew
not why, and she trembled as she seated herself in the carriage.
On returning home, she hastened to the window--the officer was
standing in his accustomed place, with his eyes fixed upon her. She
drew back, a prey to curiosity, and agitated by a feeling which was
quite new to her.
From that time forward not a day passed without the young officer
making his appearance under the window at the customary hour, and
between him and her there was established a sort of mute acquaintance.
Sitting in her place at work, she used to feel his approach, and, raising
her head, she would look at him longer and longer each day. The young
man seemed to be very grateful to her; she saw with the sharp eye of
youth, how a sudden flush covered his pale cheeks each time that their
glances met. After about a week she commenced to smile at him....
When Tomsky asked permission of his grandmother, the Countess, to
present one of his friends to her, the young girl's heart beat violently.
But hearing that Naroumoff was not an Engineer, she regretted that by
her thoughtless question, she had betrayed her secret to the volatile
Tomsky.
Hermann was the son of a German who had become a naturalized
Russian, and from whom he had inherited a small capital. Being firmly
convinced of the necessity of preserving his independence, Hermann
did not touch his private income, but lived on his pay, without allowing
himself the slightest luxury. Moreover, he was reserved and ambitious,
and his companions rarely had an opportunity of making merry at the

expense of his extreme parsimony. He had strong passions and an
ardent imagination, but his firmness of disposition preserved him from
the ordinary errors of young men. Thus, though a gamester at heart, he
never touched a card, for he considered his position did not allow
him--as he said--"to risk the necessary in the hope of winning the
superfluous," yet he would sit for nights together at the card table and
follow with feverish anxiety the different turns of the game.
The story of the three cards had produced a powerful impression upon
his imagination, and all night long he could think of nothing else. "If,"
he thought to himself the following evening, as he walked along the
streets of St. Petersburg, "if the old Countess would not reveal her
secret to me! If she would only tell me the names of the three winning
cards. Why should I not try my fortune? I must get introduced to her
and win her favor--become her lover.... But all that will take time, and
she is eighty-seven years old. She might be dead in a week, in a couple
of days even. But the story itself? Can it really be true? No! Economy,
temperance, and industry; those are my three winning cards; by means
of them I shall be able to double my capital--increase it sevenfold, and
procure for myself ease and independence."
Musing in this manner, he walked on until he found himself in one of
the principal streets of St. Petersburg, in front of a house of antiquated
architecture. The street was blocked with equipages; carriages one after
the other drew up in front of the brilliantly illuminated doorway. At one
moment there stepped out onto the pavement the well-shaped little foot
of some young beauty, at another the heavy boot of a cavalry officer,
and then the silk stockings and shoes of a member of the diplomatic
world. Fur and cloaks passed in rapid succession before the gigantic
porter at the entrance. Hermann stopped. "Whose house is this?" he
asked of the watchman at the corner.
"The Countess A----'s," replied the watchman.
Hermann started. The strange story of the three cards again presented
itself to his imagination. He began walking up and down before the
house, thinking of its owner and her strange secret. Returning late to his
modest lodging, he could not go to sleep for a long time, and when at

last he did doze off, he could dream of nothing but cards, green tables,
piles of banknotes, and heaps of ducats. He played one card after the
other, winning uninterruptedly, and then he gathered up the gold and
filled his pockets with the notes. When he woke up late the next
morning, he sighed over the loss of his imaginary wealth, and then
sallying out into the town, he found himself once more in front of the
Countess's residence. Some unknown power seemed to have attracted
him thither. He stopped and looked up at the windows. At one of these
he saw a head with luxuriant black hair, which was bent down,
probably over some book or an embroidery frame. The