The countess started to undress before the mirror. They unpinned her bonnet, decorated with roses; took the powdered wig from her gray and close-cropped head. Pins poured down like rain around her. The yellow gown embroidered with silver fell at her swollen feet. Hermann witnessed the repulsive mysteries of her toilette; finally, the countess was left in a bed jacket and nightcap; in this attire, more suitable to her old age, she seemed less horrible and ugly.
Like all old people generally, the countess suffered from insomnia. Having undressed, she sat down by the window in the Voltaire armchair and dismissed her maids. The candles were taken away, the room was again lit only by the icon lamp. The countess sat all yellow, moving her pendulous lips, swaying from side to side. Her dull eyes showed a complete absence of thought; looking at her, one might have thought that the frightful old woman’s swaying came not from her will, but from the action of some hidden galvanism.
Suddenly that dead face changed inexplicably. Her lips stopped moving, her eyes came to life: before the countess stood an unknown man.
“Don’t be afraid, for God’s sake, don’t be afraid!” he said in a clear and low voice. “I have no intention of harming you; I’ve come to beg you for a favor.”
The old woman silently looked at him and seemed not to hear him. Hermann thought she might be deaf, and, bending close to her ear, repeated the same words. The old woman was silent as before.
“You can make for the happiness of my life,” Hermann continued, “and it won’t cost you anything: I know that you can guess three cards in a row…”
Hermann stopped. The countess seemed to have understood what was asked of her; it seemed she was seeking words for her reply.
“That was a joke,” she said at last. “I swear to you! It was a joke!”
“This is no joking matter,” Hermann retorted angrily. “Remember Chaplitsky, whom you helped to win back his losses.”
The countess was visibly disconcerted. Her features showed strong emotion, but she soon lapsed into her former insensibility.
“Can you name those three sure cards for me?” Hermann continued.
The countess said nothing; Hermann went on.
“Whom are you keeping your secret for? Your grandchildren? They’re rich without that; and besides, they don’t know the value of money. Your three cards won’t help a squanderer. A man who can’t hold on to his paternal inheritance will die a pauper anyway, for all the devil’s efforts. I’m not a squanderer; I know the value of money. Your three cards won’t be wasted on me. Well?…”
He stopped and waited in trembling for her reply. The countess said nothing; Hermann went on his knees.
“If your heart has ever known the feeling of love,” he said, “if you remember its raptures, if you smiled even once at the cry of your newborn son, if anything human has ever beaten in your breast, I entreat you by the feelings of a wife, a mistress, a mother—by all that is sacred in life—do not refuse my request! Reveal your secret to me! What good is it to you?…Perhaps it’s connected with a terrible sin, with the forfeit of eternal bliss, a pact with the devil…Think: you’re old; you don’t have long to live—I’m ready to take your sin upon my soul. Only reveal your secret to me. Think: a man’s happiness is in your hands; not only I, but my children, my grandchildren and great-grandchildren, will bless your memory and revere it as sacred…”
The old woman did not say a word.
Hermann stood up.
“Old witch!” he said, clenching his teeth. “Then I’ll make you answer…”
With those words he took a pistol from his pocket.
At the sight of the pistol, the countess showed strong emotion for the second time. She shook her head and raised her hand as if to shield herself from the shot…Then she fell backwards and remained motionless.
“Stop being childish,” said Hermann, taking her hand. “I ask you for the last time: will you name your three cards for me—yes or no?”
The countess did not reply. Hermann saw that she had died.
IV
CORRESPONDENCE9
