"
The Count drew back a step and held out his right hand, with a strangely
earnest look in his weary eyes. She laid her fingers in his almost
unconsciously. Then, as though he were in a holy place, he took off his
hat, and stood bareheaded before her.
"If I forsake you, Vjera," he said very solemnly, "if I forsake you ever,
in riches or in poverty, in honour or in disrepute, may the God of heaven
forsake me in the hour of my death."
He swore the great oath deliberately, in a strong, clear voice, and then
was silent for a moment, his eyes turned upwards, his attitude unchanged.
Then he raised the poor girl's thin hand to his lips and kissed it, three
times, reverently, as devout persons kiss the relics of departed saints.
"Good-night, Vjera," he said, quietly. "We shall meet to-morrow."
Vjera was awed by his solemn earnestness, and strongly moved by his
action.
"Good-night," she answered, lovingly. "Heaven bless you and keep you
safe." She looked for a last time into his face, as though trying to
impress upon her mind the memories of that fateful evening, and then she
withdrew into the house, shutting the street door behind her.
The Count stood still for several minutes, unconsciously holding his hat
in his hand. At last he covered his head and walked slowly away in the
direction of his home. By degrees his mind fell into its old groove and he
hastened his steps. From time to time, he fancied that some one was
following him at no great distance, but though he glanced quickly over his
shoulder he saw no one in the dimly-lighted street.
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