“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.
“Will you tell me the names of the magic cards, or not?” asked Herman after a pause.
There was no reply.
The young man then drew a pistol from his pocket, exclaiming: “You old witch, I’ll force you to tell me!”