elated
passenger. Hermann was enveloped in a thick overcoat, and felt neither
wind nor snow.
At last the Countess's carriage drew up. Hermann saw two footmen carry
out in their arms the bent form of the old lady, wrapped in sable fur,
and immediately behind her, clad in a warm mantle, and with her head
ornamented with a wreath of fresh flowers, followed Lizaveta. The door
was closed. The carriage rolled heavily away through the yielding
snow. The porter shut the street door, the windows became dark.
Hermann began walking up and down near the deserted house; at length
he stopped under a lamp, and glanced at his watch: it was twenty
minutes past eleven. He remained standing under the lamp, his eyes
fixed upon the watch impatiently waiting for the remaining minutes to
pass. At half-past eleven precisely Hermann ascended the steps of the
house and made his way into the brightly-illuminated vestibule. The
porter was not there. Hermann hastily ascended the staircase, opened
the door of the anteroom, and saw a footman sitting asleep in an
antique chair by the side of a lamp. With a light, firm step Hermann
passed by him. The drawing-room and dining-room were in darkness, but
a feeble reflection penetrated thither from the lamp in the anteroom.
Hermann reached the Countess's bedroom. Before a shrine, which was
full of old images, a golden lamp was burning. Faded stuffed chairs
and divans with soft cushions stood in melancholy symmetry around the
room, the walls of which were hung with china silk. On one side of the
room hung two portraits painted in Paris by Madame Lebrun. One of
these represented a stout, red-faced man of about forty years of age,
in a bright green uniform, and with a star upon his breast; the
other--a beautiful young woman, with an aquiline nose, forehead curls,
and a rose in her powdered hair. In the corner stood porcelain
shepherds and shepherdesses, dining-room clocks from the workshop of
the celebrated Lefroy, bandboxes, roulettes, fans, and the various
playthings for the amusement of ladies that were in vogue at the end
of the last century, when Montgolfier's balloons and Niesber's
magnetism were the rage. Hermann stepped behind the screen. At the
back of it stood a little iron bedstead; on the right was the door
which led to the cabinet; on the left, the other which led to the
corridor. He opened the latter, and saw the little winding staircase
which led to the room of the poor companion. But he r
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