but his firmness of disposition preserved him from the ordinary errors of young men.  Thus, though a gamester at heart, he never touched a card, for he considered his position did not allow him—­as he said—­“to risk the necessary in the hope of winning the superfluous,” yet he would sit for nights together at the card table and follow with feverish anxiety the different turns of the game.

The story of the three cards had produced a powerful impression upon his imagination, and all night long he could think of nothing else.  “If,” he thought to himself the following evening, as he walked along the streets of St. Petersburg, “if the old Countess would but reveal her secret to me! if she would only tell me the names of the three winning cards.  Why should I not try my fortune?  I must get introduced to her and win her favour—­become her lover...  But all that will take time, and she is eighty-seven years old:  she might be dead in a week, in a couple of days even!...  But the story itself:  can it really be true?...  No!  Economy, temperance and industry:  those are my three winning cards; by means of them I shall be able to double my capital—­increase it sevenfold, and procure for myself ease and independence.”

Musing in this manner, he walked on until he found himself in one of the principal streets of St. Petersburg, in front of a house of antiquated architecture.  The street was blocked with equipages; carriages one after the other drew up in front of the brilliantly illuminated doorway.  At one moment there stepped out on to the pavement the well-shaped little foot of some young beauty, at another the heavy boot of a cavalry officer, and then the silk stockings and shoes of a member of the diplomatic world.  Furs and cloaks passed in rapid succession before the gigantic porter at the entrance.

Hermann stopped.  “Who’s house is this?” he asked of the watchman at the corner.

“The Countess A——­’s,” replied the watchman.

Hermann started.  The strange story of the three cards again presented itself to his imagination.  He began walking up and down before the house, thinking of its owner and her strange secret.  Returning late to his modest lodging, he could not go to sleep for a long time, and when at last he did doze off, he could dream of nothing but cards, green tables, piles of banknotes and heaps of ducats.  He played one card after the other, winning uninterruptedly, and then he gathered up the gold and filled his pockets with the notes.  When he woke up late the next morning, be sighed over the loss of his imaginary wealth, and then sallying out into the town, he found himself once more in front of the Countess’s residence.  Some unknown power seemed to have attracted him thither.  He stopped and looked up at the windows.  At one of these he saw a head with luxuriant black hair, which was bent down probably over some book or an embroidery frame.  The head was raised.  Hermann saw a fresh complexion and a pair of dark eyes.  That moment decided his fate.