"I already know," said Wroblewski, "though I do not quite comprehend it. I do not wish to blame you, but you do not seem to have acted quite prudently. When you suggested, the evening before the elopement, that Judith might take it tragically, and therefore your conscience would not allow it, what did I say? 'Your conscience? That is your affair. Consider it well.' Now, thought I, 'the count knows Judith better than I, and his position to her; either he will not consider his scruples justified and will come, or they will, after consideration, seem well founded; and then, out of pure friendship, I will catch cold at the open window.' You came, consequently your conscience was clear, and that sufficed for me." "Dare yon speak so to me?" cried the count. The magistrate evidently thought it more politic to misconstrue this insulting ejaculation. He said, innocently, "Of course! Who else than I, your only faithful friend? But it is not intended as a complaint; as I have once before said, you made a mistake. You ought to have disillusionized the girl carefully and delicately. Everything has its way, and much depends on that. You ought never to have permitted such a brutal affair as that fight in the water to have occurred. You have found maids to-day. Why didn't you yesterday?" "We will not speak of that," said the count. "Nor will we argue as to whether you aroused my conscience or not, or whether you always did as I wished. Your conduct does not lessen my guilt; at least, not in my sight. I have acted basely and cruelly and carelessly. The first few weeks we passed in a delirium. I thought of nothing in the world but her, and she only of me. Then came the wakening. She asked and urged, never dreaming I would refuse to marry her. She only wondered why the priest was so long in coming to baptize her and to marry us. You can believe I expiated a large portion of my sin in the three days I tried to kiss away her fears while I dissembled and lied. It was in vain. Yesterday she remained in her room a long time; and when she at last appeared, I read in her face that she no longer believed me. Then, while she listened quietly, I confessed all, and swore I would never forsake her, and I really thought she would get over it in a few days. So, at her request, I left her quite alone. That evening, when I saw her again, I was startled--such tearless, inexpressible sorrow was in every line of her face. She begged and implored: 'Make me your wife, for only three days, and then I will commit suicide, and you shall be free again.' It was frightful." He was silent. "Cheer up!" said Wroblewski, encouragingly. "Of course, you tried to pacify her." The count shook his head. "I said to her: 'I can die with you, but I cannot make you my wife. If you like, this shall be our last hour. But if you decline this, and commit suicide, I will follow you.' I meant it seriously." "I do not doubt it. And then you let her alone."