“Yes, my father caused my wife to be murdered. The wretched peasants, who were compelled by their master to witness his brutality, were ripe for revolt, this inhuman act having aroused their fiercest indignation and hatred.
“Insane with grief, I wandered alone in the forest, but on the night of the second day, when I sought food and shelter at old Savischnoff’s isba, I was surprised to find a dozen determined-looking men assembled there. Without hesitation they boldly informed me that it was their intention to proceed to the Barin’s house and avenge Natiónka’s death. Heedless of consequences I assumed the leadership of the band. In the dead of night we broke into the house, and three of us crept stealthily upstairs to where the Count lay sleeping. When I struck a match he sprang up in alarm, but I clutched him tightly by the throat.
“Recognising me, and noticing the long keen knife in my hand, he gasped——
“‘Mercy, Vassilii! Surely you would not kill me?’
“‘What mercy did you extend to her?’ I cried. ‘Why, none. You murdered her.’ At that moment I seemed possessed of fiendish strength, and in my mad demoniacal grasp he was absolutely powerless.
“Laughing at his entreaties, I raised the weapon and plunged it deep into his heart.
“Then, appalled by my horrible crime, I stole out of the room and left the house with the murderous band; not, however, before they had set fire to the place in order to destroy the evidence of the murder.
“Before the sun rose I was already on my journey south, and the house was a pile of smouldering ruins. For weeks I, a conscience-stricken parricide, rode onward until I reached the Caspian shore. Assuming the name of Vassilii Poklévski I obtained employment as a post-driver at Durnovskaia, where I have lived ever since. The police subsequently discovered that my father had been murdered, and searched diligently for the assassin, but it never occurred to them that he had adopted the disguise of a Volga yamstchik.
“So the years have passed. I have never visited the spot where I committed my crime until to-day, lest I should betray myself.
“Poor Natiónka! Is it surprising that I am sad to-night? Is it surprising that I am a revolutionist? One memento only I possess of her—the blue heart. See! here it is. Broken! An emblem of her own tragic end.”