He had gently drawn himself from the embrace and had done his best to calm the poor child by telling her there was nothing to fear. Then, calling her maid, he had begged her to go to bed again.
As usual, Vera obeyed his wish, but it was easy to guess what a wretched night she had passed.
The prince went to his room, and there, thinking over what had happened, he soon grew very discontented with himself, though he had gained the end he had aimed at. But had he been right in choosing as his accomplice this maiden who was now irretrievably compromised, and in whose heart he could not doubt that he had awakened a feeling which he was forbidden to return? What answer could he make to Soublaieff, her father, who had trusted to the honor of his master, when he asked for an account of the honor and happiness of his daughter? Had not he done everything to persuade Vera of his love for her, and was not it his duty now to undeceive her? But what would she think of him then?
Must he tell her that she had been nothing but a tool in his hands, to be broken and cast aside when she was of no further use? He felt he could not tell her this. But if he were silent, if he left Vera to her illusions, her love would grow with each day, and inevitably the time would come when he must yield to this love or speak out. Pierre Olsdorf was too honorable a man to think of making this young girl his mistress, and as, at the same time, he was full of tenderness for, and gratitude toward her, he dreaded the infliction of a cruel wound in telling her the truth.
Moreover, his pride as a nobleman revolted from the thought of taking as a confidante of his dishonor the daughter of one of his tenants. And then, how could he tell her what had passed between him and the princess? In what words could he explain to an innocent girl the outrage he had been the victim of? Was there not, too, some danger for the success of his plan in acquainting Vera with the part he had made her play? Would not she refuse indignantly to continue her rôle, and would not she, in the course of the inquiry that was to be held, betray by her bearing, if not in words, the real situation in which she had been placed?
Troubled by all these doubts, Pierre Olsdorf cast himself on his bed to seek a few hours' rest. He had come to no decision by the next morning, when his valet came to say that breakfast was served.
Not knowing what he should say or do, he went to the breakfast-room, where Vera awaited him. Seeing her white and trembling, in his remorse he thought only of comforting her with tender words.
"Dear child," he said, pressing her little hands in his, "will you give me a fresh proof of your devotion?"
Vera's only reply was a smile, which told the prince, better than any words could have done, how completely he might count on her.
Pierre continued: