"You are a monster!" said Lizaveta at last.
"I did not wish for her death," replied Hermann: "my pistol was not
loaded."
Both remained silent.
The day began to dawn. Lizaveta extinguished her candle: a pale light
illumined her room. She wiped her tear-stained eyes and raised them
towards Hermann: he was sitting near the window, with his arms crossed
and with a fierce frown upon his forehead. In this attitude he bore a
striking resemblance to the portrait of Napoleon. This resemblance
struck Lizaveta even.
"How shall I get you out of the house?" said she at last. "I thought
of conducting you down the secret staircase, but in that case it would
be necessary to go through the Countess's bedroom, and I am afraid."
"Tell me how to find this secret staircase--I will go alone."
Lizaveta arose, took from her drawer a key, handed it to Hermann and
gave him the necessary instructions. Hermann pressed her cold, limp
hand, kissed her bowed head, and left the room.
He descended the winding staircase, and once more entered the
Countess's bedroom. The dead old lady sat as if petrified; her face
expressed profound tranquillity.
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