And with this regret the count returned to his room. The cornet was not yet asleep. He immediately turned over in bed, and looked at the count. "Aren't you asleep?" asked the count. "No." "Shall I tell you what happened?" "Well." "No, I'd better not tell you.... Yes, I will too. Move your legs over a little." And the count, who had already given up vain regret for his unsuccessful intrigue, sat down with a gay smile on his comrade's bed. "Could you imagine that the young lady of the house gave me a rendezvous?" "What is that you say?" screamed Polózof, leaping up in bed. "Well, now listen." "But how? When? It can't be!" "See here: while you were making out your accounts in _préférence_, she told me that she would this night be sitting at the window, and that it was possible to get in at that window. Now, this is what it means to be a practical man: while you were there reckoning up with the old woman, I was arranging this little affair. You yourself heard her say right out in your presence, that she was going to sit at the window to-night, and look at the pond." "Yes, but she said that without any meaning in it." "I am not so sure whether she said it purposely or otherwise. Maybe she did not wish to come at it all at once, only it looked like that. But a wretched piece of work came out of it. Like a perfect fool I spoilt the whole thing," he added, scornfully smiling at himself. "Well, what is it? Where have you been?" The count told him the whole story, with the exception of his irresolute and repeated advances. "I spoilt it myself; I ought to have been bolder. She screamed, and ran away from the window." "Then she screamed and ran away?" repeated the cornet, replying with a constrained smile to the count's smile, which had such a long and powerful influence upon him. "Yes, but now it's time to go to sleep." Polózof again turned his back to the door, and lay in silence for ten minutes. God knows what was going on in his soul; but when he turned over again, his face was full of passion and resolution. "Count Turbin," said he in a broken voice. "Are you dreaming, or not?" replied the count calmly. "What is it, cornet Polózof?" "Count Turbin, you are a scoundrel," cried Polózof, and he sprang from the bed. XVI. The next day the battalion departed. The officers did not see any of the household, or bid them farewell. Neither did they speak together. It was understood that they were to fight their duel when they came to the next halting-place. But Captain Schultz, a good comrade, an admirable horseman, who was loved by everybody in the regiment, and had been chosen by the count for his second, succeeded in arranging the affair in such a manner that not only they did not fight, but that no one in the regiment knew about the matter; and Turbin and Polózof, though their old relations of friendship were never restored, still said "thou," and met at meals and at the gaming-table. THREE DEATHS _A TALE._ 1859. I.