"Yes, but she said that without any meaning in it."
"I am not so sure whether she said it purposely or otherwise. Maybe she did not wish to come at it all at once, only it looked like that. But a wretched piece of work came out of it. Like a perfect fool I spoilt the whole thing," he added, scornfully smiling at himself.
"Well, what is it? Where have you been?"
The count told him the whole story, with the exception of his irresolute and repeated advances. "I spoilt it myself; I ought to have been bolder. She screamed, and ran away from the window."
"Then she screamed and ran away?" repeated the cornet, replying with a constrained smile to the count's smile, which had such a long and powerful influence upon him.
"Yes, but now it's time to go to sleep."
Polózof again turned his back to the door, and lay in silence for ten minutes. God knows what was going on in his soul; but when he turned over again, his face was full of passion and resolution.
"Count Turbin," said he in a broken voice.
"Are you dreaming, or not?" replied the count calmly. "What is it, cornet Polózof?"
"Count Turbin, you are a scoundrel," cried Polózof, and he sprang from the bed.