“But what are your proofs?”

“I have told you.”

“And do you expect me to believe your word alone?”

“No; but I expect you to believe your own eyes.”

“How?”

“The first time that Mr. Foedor is in my lady Vaninka’s room after midnight, I shall come to find your excellency, and then you can judge for yourself if I lie; but up to the present, your excellency, all the conditions of the service I wish to render you are to my disadvantage.”

“In what way?”

“Well, if I fail to give proofs, I am to be treated as an infamous slanderer; but if I give them, what advantage shall I gain?”

“A thousand roubles and your freedom.”

“That is a bargain, then, your excellency,” replied Gregory quietly, replacing the razors on the general’s toilet-table, “and I hope that before a week has passed you will be more just to me than you are now.”

With these words the slave left the room, leaving the general convinced by his confidence that some dreadful misfortune threatened him.

From this time onward, as might be expected, the general weighed every word and noticed every gesture which passed between Vaninka and Foedor in his presence; but he saw nothing to confirm his suspicions on the part of the aide-de-camp or of his daughter; on the contrary, Vaninka seemed colder and more reserved than ever.

A week passed in this way.  About two o’clock in the morning of the ninth day, someone knocked at the general’s door.  It was Gregory.

“If your excellency will go into your daughter’s room,” said Gregory, “you will find Mr. Foedor there.”

The general turned pale, dressed himself without uttering a word, and followed the slave to the door of Vaninka’s room.  Having arrived there, with a motion of his hand he dismissed the informer, who, instead of retiring in obedience to this mute command, hid himself in the corner of the corridor.

When the general believed himself to be alone, he knocked once; but all was silent.  This silence, however, proved nothing; for Vaninka might be asleep.  He knocked a second time, and the young girl, in a perfectly calm voice, asked, “Who is there?”

“It is I,” said the general, in a voice trembling with emotion.

“Annouschka!” said the girl to her foster-sister, who slept in the adjoining room, “open the door to my father.  Forgive me, father,” she continued; “but Annouschka is dressing, and will be with you in a moment.”

The general waited patiently, for he could discover no trace of emotion in his daughter’s voice, and he hoped that Gregory had been mistaken.

In a few moments the door opened, and the general went in, and cast a long look around him; there was no one in this first apartment.

Vaninka was in bed, paler perhaps than usual, but quite calm, with the loving smile on her lips with which she always welcomed her father.