The Count, omitting his manifold irresolute approaches, related all as it had happened. “I spoilt it all myself: I ought to have been bolder. She screamed and ran from the window.”

“So she screamed and ran away,” said the Cornet, smiling uneasily in answer to the Count’s smile, which for such a long time had had so strong an influence over him.

“Yes, but it’s time to go to sleep.”

The Cornet again turned his back to the door and lay silent for about ten minutes. Heaven knows what went on in his soul, but when he turned again, his face bore an expression of suffering and resolve.

“Count Toúrbin!” he said abruptly.

“Are you talking in your sleep?” quietly replied the Count; “… yes, Cornet Pólozof?”

“Count Toúrbin, you are a scoundrel!” cried Pólozof, and again jumped out of bed.