"Speak, man, speak!" said the Countess, sneeringly.
Another moan was heard; not from the Baron, but from behind one of the thick Arras portières. Then it moved, and Anya appeared within the room. She advanced a few steps, stretched out her arms, just as if she were walking in the dark; then, at last, she sank senseless on the floor. The father ran to her, caught her up in his arms, pressed her to his heart, tried to bring her back from her fainting-fit, called her by the most endearing names; but, alas! she was already beyond hearing him.
"You have killed your daughter!" cried Aleksij, beside himself with grief.
"I?" said the Countess.
"Yes, and you have blasted my life!"
"Have you not blasted mine?" replied the Countess, laughing, and yet looking as scared as a ghost.
The Baron was moaning over his daughter's lifeless body.
"You are happy, my Anya; but what is to become of me?"
"Aleksij, rest can always be found within the waters of the Neva; its bed is as soft as down, whilst the breeze blowing in the sedges sings such a soft lullaby."
Orsinski looked up at his wife.