Even while I was on my way from the Princess Christina’s house I began to realise the consequences of the mistake we were making. I had been miserably weak to give way, and, although my head was half giddy with the rapturous remembrance of her words and glances, and dazed with the thought that she had appealed to my love, I was angry with myself for having yielded.
I half dreaded to meet Zoiloff. I knew what that sturdy fellow would say, and was inclined to fear lest he should make a shrewd guess at the reasons which had influenced me. One thing was certain, he must not be present when I saw the Countess; for I knew that she would blurt out the truth in her sneering, vindictive tone.
She would publish it, too, far and wide, and in a few days all Sofia would ring with the secret of my love for Christina and of hers for me. That alone was enough to ruin the cause, since it must inevitably rouse old Kolfort’s suspicions.
When I reached the house I was told that Zoiloff was with the Countess Bokara, and I sent for him. I said in as few words as possible that it had been decided to let the woman go free, and I gave some more or less fictitious reasons of policy for it. But they did not impose on him for an instant.
“It is wrong, Count, absolutely wrong, and you should never have consented. She will ruin everything. I propose that we just ignore the Princess’s wish and keep that fiend close all the same.”
“I have passed my word, Zoiloff.”
“I am very sorry to hear it, but I haven’t; and there’s nothing to prevent your setting her free and my taking her again. Everything is ready, as you know, and the thing would be easy enough.”
“No, I can be no party to it,” I answered firmly, although the notion pleased and tempted me.
“Then you may as well throw up the sponge.” He spoke angrily.
“It may still be possible to blind the General’s eyes.”