At the sight of the weapon the Countess gave a second sign of life. She threw back her head and put out her hands as if to protect herself; then they dropped and she sat motionless.
Herman grasped her arm roughly, and was about to renew his threats, when he saw that she was dead!
Seated in her room, still in her ball-dress, Lisaveta gave herself up to her reflections. She had expected to find the young officer there, but she felt relieved to see that he was not.
Strangely enough, that very night at the ball, Tomsky had rallied her about her preference for the young officer, assuring her that he knew more than she supposed he did.
“Of whom are you speaking?” she had asked in alarm, fearing her adventure had been discovered.
“Of the remarkable man,” was the reply. “His name is Herman.”
Lisa made no reply.
“This Herman,” continued Tomsky, “is a romantic character; he has the profile of a Napoleon and the heart of a Mephistopheles. It is said he has at least three crimes on his conscience. But how pale you are.”
“It is only a slight headache. But why do you talk to me of this Herman?”