uld bring him. He swore
by the most solemn oaths never to betray his mistress, and offered, as
Annouschka had hoped, to dispose of the body of the unfortunate
aide-decamp.

The thing was easily done. Instead of returning to drink with Gregory
and his comrades, Ivan went to prepare a sledge, filled it with straw,
and hid at the bottom an iron crowbar. He brought this to the outside
gate, and assuring himself he was not being spied upon, he raised the
body of the dead man in his arms, hid it under the straw, and sat down
above it. He had the gate of the hotel opened, followed Niewski Street
as far as the Zunamenie Church, passed through the shops in the
Rejestwenskoi district, drove the sledge out on to the frozen Neva, and
halted in the middle of the river, in front of the deserted church of
Ste. Madeleine. There, protected by the solitude and darkness, hidden
behind the black mass of his sledge, he began to break the ice, which was
fifteen inches thick, with his pick. When he had made a large enough
hole, he searched the body of Foedor, took all the money he had about
him, and slipped the body head foremost through the opening he had made.
He then made his way back to the hotel, while the imprisoned current of
the Neva bore away the corpse towards the Gulf of Finland. An hour
after, a new crust of ice had formed, and not even a trace of the opening
made by Ivan remained.

At midnight Vaninka returned with her father. A hidden fever had been
consuming her all the evening: never had she looked so lovely, and she
had been overwhelmed by the homage of the most distinguished nobles and
courtiers. When she returned, she found Annouschka in the vestibule
waiting to take her cloak. As she gave it to her, Vaninka sent her one
of those questioning glances that seem to express so much. "It is done,"
said the girl in a low voice. Vaninka breathed a sigh of relief, as if a
mountain had been removed from her breast. Great as was her self-control,
she could no longer bear her father's presence, and excused herself from
remaining to supper with him, on the plea of the fatigues of the evening.
Vaninka was no sooner in her room, with the door once closed, than she
tore the flowers from her hair, the necklace from her throat, cut with
scissors the corsets which suffocated her, and then, throwing herself on
her bed, she gave way to her grief. Annouschka thanked God for this
outburst; her mistress's calmness had frightened her