The Continental Classics, Volume XVIII | Page 6

head was raised.
Hermann saw a fresh complexion, and a pair of dark eyes. That
moment decided his fate.
III
Lizaveta Ivanovna had scarcely taken off her hat and cloak, when the
Countess sent for her, and again ordered her to get the carriage ready.
The vehicle drew up before the door, and they prepared to take their
seats. Just at the moment when two footmen were assisting the old lady
to enter the carriage, Lizaveta saw her Engineer standing close beside
the wheel; he grasped her hand; alarm caused her to lose her presence
of mind, and the young man disappeared--but not before he had left a
letter between her fingers. She concealed it in her glove, and during the
whole of the drive she neither saw nor heard anything. It was the
custom of the Countess, when out for an airing in her carriage, to be
constantly asking such questions as "Who was that person that met us
just now? What is the name of this bridge? What is written on that
sign-board?" On this occasion, however, Lizaveta returned such vague
and absurd answers, that the Countess became angry with her.
"What is the matter with you, my dear?" she exclaimed. "Have you
taken leave of your senses, or what is it? Do you not hear me or
understand what I say? Heaven be thanked, I am still in my right mind
and speak plainly enough!"
Lizaveta Ivanovna did not hear her. On returning home she ran to her
room, and drew the letter out of her glove: it was not sealed. Lizaveta
read it. The letter contained a declaration of love; it was tender,

respectful, and copied word for word from a German novel. But
Lizaveta did not know anything of the German language, and she was
quite delighted.
For all that, the letter caused her to feel exceedingly uneasy. For the
first time in her life she was entering into secret and confidential
relations with a young man. His boldness alarmed her. She reproached
herself for her imprudent behavior, and knew not what to do. Should
she cease to sit at the window, and, by assuming an appearance of
indifference towards him, put a check upon the young officer's desire
for further acquaintance with her? Should she send his letter back to
him, or should she answer him in a cold and decided manner? There
was nobody to whom she could turn in her perplexity, for she had
neither female friend nor adviser. At length she resolved to reply to
him.
She sat down at her little writing table, took pen and paper, and began
to think. Several times she began her letter and then tore it up; the way
she had expressed herself seemed to her either too inviting or too cold
and decisive. At last she succeeded in writing a few lines with which
she felt satisfied.
"I am convinced," she wrote, "that your intentions are honorable, and
that you do not wish to offend me by any imprudent behavior, but our
acquaintance must not begin in such a manner. I return you your letter,
and I hope that I shall never have any cause to complain of this
undeserved slight."
The next day, as soon as Hermann made his appearance, Lizaveta rose
from her embroidery, went into the drawing-room, opened the
ventilator, and threw the letter into the street, trusting that the young
officer would have the perception to pick it up.
Hermann hastened forward, picked it up, and then repaired to a
confectioner's shop. Breaking the seal of the envelope, he found inside
it his own letter and Lizaveta's reply. He had expected this, and he
returned home, his mind deeply occupied with his intrigue.

Three days afterwards a bright-eyed young girl from a milliner's
establishment brought Lizaveta a letter. Lizaveta opened it with great
uneasiness, fearing that it was a demand for money, when, suddenly,
she recognized Hermann's handwriting.
"You have made a mistake, my dear," said she. "This letter is not for
me."
"Oh, yes, it is for you," replied the girl, smiling very knowingly. "Have
the goodness to read it."
Lizaveta glanced at the letter. Hermann requested an interview.
"It cannot be," she cried, alarmed at the audacious request and the
manner in which it was made. "This letter is certainly not for me," and
she tore it into fragments.
"If the letter was not for you, why have you torn it up?" said the girl. "I
should have given it back to the person who sent it."
"Be good enough, my dear," said Lizaveta, disconcerted by this remark,
"not to bring me any more letters for the future, and tell the person who
sent you that he ought to be ashamed."
But Hermann was not the man to be thus