"Where were you?" she asked in a terrified whisper.

"In the old Countess's bedroom," replied Hermann. "I have just
left her. The Countess is dead."

"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.