Emma Edwardovna came to the little bit of a cabinet, where formerly Anna Markovna loved to drink coffee with clotted cream; sat down on the divan and pointed out a place opposite her to Tamara.  For some time the women kept silent; searchingly, mistrustfully eyeing each other.

“You acted rightly, Tamara,” said Emma Edwardovna finally.  “You did wisely in not stepping up, on the manner of those sheep, to kiss my hand.  But just the same, I would not have let you come to that.  I wanted right there, in the presence of all, when you walked up to me, to press your hand and to offer you the place of first housekeeper—­you understand?—­my chief assistant—­and on terms very advantageous to you ...”

“I thank you ...”

“No, wait a while, don’t interrupt me.  I will have my say to the end, and then you will express your pros and cons.  But will you explain to me, please, when yesterday you were aiming at me out of a revolver, what did you want?  Can it possibly be, to kill me?”

“On the contrary, Emma Edwardovna,” retorted Tamara respectfully, “on the contrary; it seemed to me that you wanted to strike me.”

“PJUI!  What do you mean, Tamarochka! ...  Have you paid no attention to the fact that during all the time of our acquaintance I never permitted myself, not only to hit you, but even to address you with a rude word? ...  What do you mean, what do you mean? ...  I don’t confuse you with this poor Russian trash ...  Glory be to God, I am an experienced person and one who knows people well.  I can very well see that you are a genuinely cultured young lady; far more educated, for example, than I myself.  You are refined, elegant, smart.  I am convinced of the fact that you even know music not at all badly.  Finally, if I were to confess, I was a little ... how shall I put it to you? ...  I always was a little in love with you.  And now you wanted to shoot me!  Me, a person who could be a very good friend to you!  Well, what will you say to that?”

“Well ... nothing at all, Emma Edwardovna,” retorted Tamara in the meekest and most plausible tone.  “Everything was very simple.  Even before that I found the revolver under Jennka’s pillow and brought it, in order to give it over to you.  I did not want to interfere, when you were reading the letter; but then you turned around to me—­I stretched the revolver out to you and wanted to say:  ’See, Emma Edwardovna, what I found’—­for, don’t you see, it surprised me awfully how the late Jennie, having a revolver at her disposal, preferred such a horrible death as hanging?  And that’s all.”

The bushy, frightful eyebrows of Emma Edwardovna rose upward; the eyes widened joyously; and a real, uncounterfeited smile spread over her cheeks of a behemoth.  She quickly extended both hands to Tamara.

“And is this all?  O, mein kind?  And I thought ...  God knows what I imagined!  Give me your hands, Tamara, your little charming white hands, and allow me to press them auf mein Herz, upon my heart, and to kiss you.”