Should she send his letter back to him, or should she answer him in
a cold and decided manner? There was nobody to whom she could turn
in her perplexity, for she had neither female friend nor adviser.
At length she resolved to reply to him.

She sat down at her little writing table, took pen and paper, and
began to think. Several times she began her letter and then tore
it up; the way she had expressed herself seemed to her either too
inviting or too cold and decisive. At last she succeeded in
writing a few lines with which she felt satisfied.

"I am convinced," she wrote, "that your intentions are honorable,
and that you do not wish to offend me by any imprudent behavior,
but our acquaintance must not begin in such a manner. I return you
your letter, and I hope that I shall never have any cause to
complain of this undeserved slight."

The next day, as soon as Hermann made his appearance, Lizaveta rose
from her embroidery, went into the drawing-room, opened the
ventilator, and threw the letter into the street, trusting that the
young officer would have the perception to pick it up.

Hermann hastened forward, picked it up, and then repaired to a
confectioner's shop. Breaking the seal of the envelope, he found
inside it his own letter and Lizaveta's reply. He had expected
this, and he returned home, his mind deeply occupied with his
intrigue.

Three days afterwards a bright-eyed young girl from a milliner's
establishment brought Lizaveta a letter. Lizaveta opened it with