The Queen of Spades | Page 4

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,
the young man approached the bier. He prostrated himself on the cold
floor, and remained motionless for a long time. He rose at last with a
face almost as pale as that of the corpse itself, and went up the steps to
look into the casket. As he looked down it seemed to him that the rigid
face returned his glance mockingly, closing one eye. He turned
abruptly away, made a false step, and fell to the floor. He was picked
up, and, at the same moment, Lisaveta was carried out in a faint.
Herman did not recover his usual composure during the entire day. He
dined alone at an out-of-the-way restaurant, and drank a great deal, in
the hope of stifling his emotion. The wine only served to stimulate his
imagination. He returned home and threw himself down on his bed
without undressing.
During the night he awoke with a start; the moon shone into his
chamber, making everything plainly visible. Some one looked in at the
window, then quickly disappeared. He paid no attention to this, but
soon he heard the vestibule door open. He thought it was his orderly,
returning late, drunk as usual. The step was an unfamiliar one, and he
heard the shuffling sound of loose slippers.
The door of his room opened, and a woman in white entered. She came
close to the bed, and the terrified man recognized the Countess.
"I have come to you against my will," she said abruptly; "but I was
commanded to grant your request. The tray, seven, and ace in
succession are the magic cards. Twenty-four hours must elapse
between the use of each card, and after the three have been used you
must never play again."
The fantom then turned and walked away. Herman heard the outside

door close, and again saw the form pass the window.
He rose and went out into the hall, where his orderly lay asleep on the
floor. The door was closed. Finding no trace of a visitor, he returned to
his room, lit his candle, and wrote down what he had just heard.
Two fixed ideas cannot exist in the brain at the same time any more
than two bodies can occupy the same point in space. The tray, seven,
and ace soon chased away the thoughts of the dead woman, and all
other thoughts from the brain of the young officer. All his ideas merged
into a single one: how to turn to advantage the secret paid for so dearly.
He even thought of resigning his commission and going to Paris to
force a fortune from conquered fate. Chance rescued him from his
embarrassment.
*****
Tchekalinsky, a man who had passed his whole life at cards, opened a
club at St. Petersburg. His long experience secured for him the
confidence of his companions, and his hospitality and genial humor
conciliated society.
The gilded youth flocked around him, neglecting society, preferring the
charms of faro to those of their sweethearts. Naroumov invited Herman
to accompany him to the club, and the young man accepted the
invitation only too willingly.
The two officers found the apartments full. Generals and statesmen
played whist; young men lounged on sofas, eating ices or smoking. In
the principal salon stood a long table, at which about twenty men sat
playing faro, the host of the establishment being the banker.
He was a man of about sixty, gray-haired and respectable. His ruddy
face shone with genial humor; his eyes sparkled and a constant smile
hovered around his lips.
Naroumov presented Herman. The host gave him a cordial handshake,
begged him not to stand upon ceremony, and returned, to his dealing.

More than thirty cards were already on the table. Tchekalinsky paused
after each coup, to allow the punters time to recognize their gains or
losses, politely answering all questions and constantly smiling.
After the deal was over, the cards were shuffled and the game began
again.
"Permit me to choose a card," said Herman, stretching out his hand
over the head of a portly gentleman, to reach a livret. The banker
bowed without replying.
Herman chose a card, and wrote the amount of his stake upon it with a
piece of chalk.
"How much is that?" asked