At last Lisa dropped a letter from her window: “There’s a ball at the *** ambassador’s house tonight. The countess will be there. Here is an opportunity for you to see me alone. Come at half past eleven.”
Hermann trembled like a tiger, waiting for the appointed time. At ten he was already standing in front of the countess’s house. The wind howled and thick wet snow fell; streetlamps cast a dim light. The streets were empty. At times a cabbie would drag by with his meagre jade looking for the last customer. Hermann wore no coat, but he didn’t feel the cold. At last the countess’s carriage arrived. He saw footmen carry out a hunched old woman wrapped in a sable coat. Then Lisa, the countess’s young charge, fresh flowers in her hair and a light cape on her shoulders, slipped into the carriage. The doors closed, the carriage moved along heavily on the wet snow. The doorman went inside and windows went dark. Hermann remained outside the empty house. He went up to the streetlamp and looked at his watch – it was twenty past eleven. He remained under the streetlamp, staring at the watch, waiting for the minutes to pass.
Continue reading ‘From “The Queen of Spades,” by Alexander Pushkin’
