"My God! What do you say?"

"And I am afraid," added Hermann, "that I am the cause of her death."

Lizaveta looked at him, and Tomsky's words found an echo in her soul:
"This man has at least three crimes upon his conscience!" Hermann sat
down by the window near her, and related all that had happened.

Lizaveta listened to him in terror. So all those passionate letters,
those ardent desires, this bold, obstinate pursuit--all this was not
love! Money--that was what his soul yearned for! She could not satisfy
his desire and make him happy. The poor girl had been nothing but the
blind tool of a robber, of the murderer of her aged benefactress! She
wept bitter tears of agonized repentance. Hermann gazed at her in
silence; his heart, too, was a prey to violent emotion, but neither
the tears of the poor girl, nor the wonderful charm of her beauty,
enhanced by her grief, could produce any impression upon his hardened
soul. He felt no pricking of conscience at the thought of the dead old
woman. One thing only grieved him: the irreparable loss of the secret
from which he had expected to obtain great wealth.

"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.