The hours dragged slowly by; at last he heard the sound of wheels. Immediately lamps were lighted and servants began moving about. Finally the old woman tottered into the room, completely exhausted. Her women removed her wraps and proceeded to get her in readiness for the night. Herman watched the proceedings with a curiosity not unmingled with superstitious fear. When at last she was attired in cap and gown, the old woman looked less 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.