The Queen of Spades | Page 3

uncanny than when she wore her ball-dress of blue brocade.
She sat down in an easy chair beside a table, as she was in the habit of doing before retiring, and her women withdrew. As the old lady sat swaying to and fro, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings, Herman crept out of his hiding-place.
At the slight noise the old woman opened her eyes, and gazed at the intruder with a half-dazed expression.
"Have no fear, I beg of you," said Herman, in a calm voice. "I have not come to harm you, but to ask a favor of you instead."
The Countess looked at him in silence, seemingly without comprehending him. Herman thought she might be deaf, so he put his lips close to her ear and repeated his remark. The listener remained perfectly mute.
"You could make my fortune without its costing you anything," pleaded the young man; "only tell me the three cards which are sure to win, and--"
Herman paused as the old woman opened her lips as if about to speak.
"It was only a jest; I swear to you, it was only a jest," came from the withered lips.
"There was no jesting about it. Remember Tchaplitzky, who, thanks to you, was able to pay his debts."
An expression of interior agitation passed over the face of the old woman; then she relapsed into her former apathy.
"Will you tell me the names of the magic cards, or not?" asked Herman after a pause.
There was no reply.
The young man then drew a pistol from his pocket, exclaiming: "You old witch, I'll force you to tell me!"
At the sight of the weapon the Countess gave a second sign of life. She threw back her head and put out her hands as if to protect herself; then they dropped and she sat motionless.
Herman grasped her arm roughly, and was about to renew his threats, when he saw that she was dead!
*****
Seated in her room, still in her ball-dress, Lisaveta gave herself up to her reflections. She had expected to find the young officer there, but she felt relieved to see that he was not.
Strangely enough, that very night at the ball, Tomsky had rallied her about her preference for the young officer, assuring her that he knew more than she supposed he did.
"Of whom are you speaking?" she had asked in alarm, fearing her adventure had been discovered.
"Of the remarkable man," was the reply. "His name is Herman."
Lisa made no reply.
"This Herman," continued Tomsky, "is a romantic character; he has the profile of a Napoleon and the heart of a Mephistopheles. It is said he has at least three crimes on his conscience. But how pale you are."
"It is only a slight headache. But why do you talk to me of this Herman?"
"Because I believe he has serious intentions concerning you."
"Where has he seen me?"
"At church, perhaps, or on the street."
The conversation was interrupted at this point, to the great regret of the young girl. The words of Tomsky made a deep impression upon her, and she realized how imprudently she had acted. She was thinking of all this and a great deal more when the door of her apartment suddenly opened, and Herman stood before her. She drew back at sight of him, trembling violently.
"Where have you been?" she asked in a frightened whisper.
"In the bedchamber of the Countess. She is dead," was the calm reply.
"My God! What are you saying?" cried the girl.
"Furthermore, I believe that I was the cause of her death."
The words of Tomsky flashed through Lisa's mind.
Herman sat down and told her all. She listened with a feeling of terror and disgust. So those passionate letters, that audacious pursuit were not the result of tenderness and love. It was money that he desired. The poor girl felt that she had in a sense been an accomplice in the death of her benefactress. She began to weep bitterly. Herman regarded her in silence.
"You are a monster!" exclaimed Lisa, drying her eyes.
"I didn't intend to kill her; the pistol was not even loaded.
"How are you going to get out of the house?" inquired Lisa. "It is nearly daylight. I intended to show you the way to a secret staircase, while the Countess was asleep, as we would have to cross her chamber. Now I am afraid to do so."
"Direct me, and I will find the way alone," replied Herman.
She gave him minute instructions and a key with which to open the street door. The young man pressed the cold, inert hand, then went out.
The death of the Countess had surprised no one, as it had long been expected. Her funeral was attended by every one of note in the vicinity. Herman mingled with the throng without attracting any especial attention. After all the friends had taken their last look at the dead face,