“Shall we go away tomorrow?” presently she asked, as though some disturbing thought had recurred to her recollection. “How would it be if we were to try and overtake Grandmamma? I think we should do so at Berlin. And what think you she would have to say to us when we caught her up, and her eyes first lit upon us? What, too, about Mr. Astley? He would not leap from the Shlangenberg for my sake! No! Of that I am very sure!”—and she laughed. “Do you know where he is going next year? He says he intends to go to the North Pole for scientific investigations, and has invited me to go with him! Ha, ha, ha! He also says that we Russians know nothing, can do nothing, without European help. But he is a good fellow all the same. For instance, he does not blame the General in the matter, but declares that Mlle. Blanche—that love—But no; I do not know, I do not know.” She stopped suddenly, as though she had said her say, and was feeling bewildered. “What poor creatures these people are. How sorry I am for them, and for Grandmamma! But when are you going to kill De Griers? Surely you do not intend actually to murder him? You fool! Do you suppose that I should allow you to fight De Griers? Nor shall you kill the Baron.” Here she burst out laughing. “How absurd you looked when you were talking to the Burmergelms! I was watching you all the time—watching you from where I was sitting. And how unwilling you were to go when I sent you! Oh, how I laughed and laughed!”
Then she kissed and embraced me again; again she pressed her face to mine with tender passion. Yet I neither saw nor heard her, for my head was in a whirl….
It must have been about seven o’clock in the morning when I awoke. Daylight had come, and Polina was sitting by my side—a strange expression on her face, as though she had seen a vision and was unable to collect her thoughts. She too had just awoken, and was now staring at the money on the table. My head ached; it felt heavy. I attempted to take Polina’s hand, but she pushed me from her, and leapt from the sofa. The dawn was full of mist, for rain had fallen, yet she moved to the window, opened it, and, leaning her elbows upon the window-sill, thrust out her head and shoulders to take the air. In this position did she remain for several minutes, without ever looking round at me, or listening to what I was saying. Into my head there came the uneasy thought: What is to happen now? How is it all to end? Suddenly Polina rose from the window, approached the table, and, looking at me with an expression of infinite aversion, said with lips which quivered with anger:
“Well? Are you going to hand me over my fifty thousand francs?”
“Polina, you say that again, again?” I exclaimed.
“You have changed your mind, then? Ha, ha, ha! You are sorry you ever promised them?”
On the table where, the previous night, I had counted the money there still was lying the packet of twenty five thousand florins. I handed it to her.
“The francs are mine, then, are they? They are mine?” she inquired viciously as she balanced the money in her hands.
“Yes; they have always been yours,” I said.
“Then take your fifty thousand francs!” and she hurled them full in my face. The packet burst as she did so, and the floor became strewed with bank-notes. The instant that the deed was done she rushed from the room.
At that moment she cannot have been in her right mind; yet, what was the cause of her temporary aberration I cannot say. For a month past she had been unwell. Yet what had brought about this present condition of mind, above all things, this outburst? Had it come of wounded pride? Had it come of despair over her decision to come to me? Had it come of the fact that, presuming too much on my good fortune, I had seemed to be intending to desert her (even as De Griers had done) when once I had given her the fifty thousand francs? But, on my honour, I had never cherished any such intention. What was at fault, I think, was her own pride, which kept urging her not to trust me, but, rather, to insult me—even though she had not realised the fact. In her eyes I corresponded to De Griers, and therefore had been condemned for a fault not wholly my own. Her mood of late had been a sort of delirium, a sort of light-headedness—that I knew full well; yet, never had I sufficiently taken it into consideration. Perhaps she would not pardon me now? Ah, but this was the present. What about the future? Her delirium and sickness were not likely to make her forget what she had done in bringing me De Griers’ letter. No, she must have known what she was doing when she brought it.
Somehow I contrived to stuff the pile of notes and gold under the bed, to cover them over, and then to leave the room some ten minutes after Polina. I felt sure that she had returned to her own room; wherefore, I intended quietly to follow her, and to ask the nursemaid aid who opened the door how her mistress was. Judge, therefore, of my surprise when, meeting the domestic on the stairs, she informed me that Polina had not yet returned, and that she (the domestic) was at that moment on her way to my room in quest of her!
“Mlle. left me but ten minutes ago,” I said. “What can have become of her?” The nursemaid looked at me reproachfully.
Already sundry rumours were flying about the hotel. Both in the office of the commissionaire and in that of the landlord it was whispered that, at seven o’clock that morning, the Fräulein had left the hotel, and set off, despite the rain, in the direction of the Hotel d’Angleterre. From words and hints let fall I could see that the fact of Polina having spent the night in my room was now public property. Also, sundry rumours were circulating concerning the General’s family affairs. It was known that last night he had gone out of his mind, and paraded the hotel in tears; also, that the old lady who had arrived was his mother, and that she had come from Russia on purpose to forbid her son’s marriage with Mlle. de Cominges, as well as to cut him out of her will if he should disobey her; also that, because he had disobeyed her, she had squandered all her money at roulette, in order to have nothing more to leave to him. “Oh, these Russians!” exclaimed the landlord, with an angry toss of the head, while the bystanders laughed and the clerk betook himself to his accounts. Also, every one had learnt about my winnings; Karl, the corridor lacquey, was the first to congratulate me. But with these folk I had nothing to do. My business was to set off at full speed to the Hotel d’Angleterre.
As yet it was early for Mr. Astley to receive visitors; but, as soon as he learnt that it was I who had arrived, he came out into the corridor to meet me, and stood looking at me in silence with his steel-grey eyes as he waited to hear what I had to say. I inquired after Polina.
“She is ill,” he replied, still looking at me with his direct, unwavering glance.
“And she is in your rooms.”
“Yes, she is in my rooms.”
“Then you are minded to keep her there?”
“Yes, I am minded to keep her there.”
“But, Mr. Astley, that will raise a scandal. It ought not to be allowed. Besides, she is very ill. Perhaps you had not remarked that?”
“Yes, I have. It was I who told you about it. Had she not been ill, she would not have gone and spent the night with you.”
“Then you know all about it?”
“Yes; for last night she was to have accompanied me to the house of a relative of mine. Unfortunately, being ill, she made a mistake, and went to your rooms instead.”
“Indeed? Then I wish you joy, Mr. Astley. Apropos, you have reminded me of something. Were you beneath my window last night? Every moment Mlle. Polina kept telling me to open the window and see if you were there; after which she always smiled.”
“Indeed? No, I was not there; but I was waiting in the corridor, and walking about the hotel.”
“She ought to see a doctor, you know, Mr. Astley.”
“Yes, she ought. I have sent for one, and, if she dies, I shall hold you responsible.”
This surprised me.
“Pardon me,” I replied, “but what do you mean?”
“Never mind. Tell me if it is true that, last night, you won two hundred thousand thalers?”
“No; I won a hundred thousand florins.”
“Good heavens! Then I suppose you will be off to Paris this morning?”
“Why?”
“Because all Russians who have grown rich go to Paris,” explained Astley, as though he had read
