of this, the more his gratitude increased,
and the more fully he realised at what great cost poor Vjera had saved him
from what he considered the greatest conceivable dishonour, from the shame
of breaking his word, no matter under what conditions it had been given.
He could, of course, repay her the money, so soon as his friends arrived,
but by no miracle whatever could he restore to her head the only beauty it
had ever possessed. He had scarcely understood this at first, for he had
been confused and shaken by the many emotions which had in succession
played upon his nervous mind and body during the past twenty-four hours.
But now he saw it all very clearly. He had taken only money, which he
would be able to restore; she had given a part of herself, irrevocably.

So deeply absorbed was he in his thoughts that the clocks struck many
successive quarters without rousing him from his reverie, or suggesting
again to him the fixed idea by which his life was governed on that day of
the week. But as midnight drew near, the prolonged striking of the bells
at every quarter at last attracted his attention. He started suddenly and
rose from his seat, trying to count the strokes, but he had not heard the
first ones and was astray in his reckoning. It was very late, that was
certain, and not many minutes could elapse before the door would open and
his friends would enter. He hastily smoothed his hair, looked to the flame
of his bright little lamp and made a trip of inspection round the room.
Everything was in order. He was almost glad that they were to come at
night, for the lamplight seemed to lend a more cheerful look to the room.
The Turkey-red cotton counterpane on the bed looked particularly well, the
Count thought. During the next fifteen minutes he walked about, rubbing
his hands softly together. At the first stroke of the following quarter he
stood still and listened intently.

Four quarters struck, and then the big bell began to toll the hour. It
must be eleven, he thought, as he counted the strokes. Eleven--twelve--he
started, and turned very white, but listened still, for he knew that he
should hear another clock striking in a few seconds. As the strokes
followed each other, his heart beat like a fulling-hammer, giving a
succession of quick blows, and pausing to repeat the rhythmic tattoo more
loudly and painfully than before. Ten--eleven--twelve--there was no
mistake. The day was over. It was midnight, and no one had come