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Then I went to the Count’s study, and as I passed through a whole suite of dark, unlighted rooms, I looked into one of the numerous doors. I saw a touching picture. At a table near a boiling samovar Zosia and her brother Pshekhotsky were seated… Zosia, dressed in a light blouse but still wearing the same bracelets and rings, was smelling at a scent bottle and sipping tea from her cup with fastidious languor. Her eyes were red with weeping… Probably the occurrences at the shooting party had shaken her nerves very much, and had spoilt her frame of mind for a long time to come. Pshekhotsky, with his usual wooden face, was lapping up his tea in large gulps from the saucer and saying something to his sister. To judge from his admonitory expression, he was trying to calm her and persuade her not to cry.

It goes without saying that I found the Count with entirely shattered nerves. This puny and flabby man looked thinner and more dejected than ever… He was pale, and his lips trembled as if with ague. His head was tied up in a white pocket-handkerchief, which exhaled a strong odour of vinegar that filled the whole room. When I entered the room he jumped up from the sofa, on which he was lying, and rushed towards me wrapped up in the folds of his dressing-gown.

‘Oh! oh!’ he began, trembling and in a choking voice. ‘Well?’

And uttering some inarticulate sounds, he pulled me by the sleeve to the sofa and, waiting till I was seated, he pressed against me like a frightened dog and began to pour out all his grievances.

‘Who could have expected it? Eh? Wait a moment, golubchek, I’ll cover myself up with the plaid… I have a fever… Murdered, poor thing! And how brutally murdered! She’s still alive, but the village doctor says she’ll not last the night… A terrible day! She arrived without rhyme or reason, that… wife of mine… may the devil take her! That was my most unfortunate mistake, Serezha; I was married in Petersburg when drunk. I hid it from you. I was ashamed of it, but there — she has arrived, and you can see her for yourself… I look at her, and blame myself… Oh, the accursed weakness! Under the influence of the moment and vodka, I’m capable of doing anything you like! The arrival of my wife is the first lovely surprise, the scandal with Olga the second… I’m expecting a third… I know what will happen next… I know! I’ll go mad!’

Having drunk three glasses of vodka and called himself an ass, a scoundrel and a drunkard, the Count began in a whimpering voice and a confused manner to describe the drama that had taken place at the shooting party… What he told me was approximately the following: About twenty or thirty minutes after I had left, when the astonishment at Zosia’s arrival had somewhat subsided, and when Zosia herself, having made acquaintance with the guests, began to play the part of hostess, the company suddenly heard a piercing, heartrending shriek. This shriek came from the forest and was repeated four times. It was so extraordinary that the people who heard it sprang to their feet, the dogs began to bark, and the horses pricked up their ears. The shriek was unnatural, but the Count was able to recognize in it a woman’s voice… There were notes of despair and terror in it…

Women must shriek in that way when they see a ghost, or at the sudden death of a child… The alarmed guests looked at the Count; the Count looked at them… For what seemed like minutes there was the silence of the grave.

While the ladies and gentlemen looked at each other, the coachmen and lackeys rushed towards the place from which the cry had come. The first messenger of grief was the old manservant, Il’ya. He ran back to the clearing from the forest, with a pale face, dilated pupils, and wanted to say something, but breathlessness and excitement prevented him from speaking. At last, overcoming his agitation, he crossed himself and said:

‘The missis has been murdered!’

‘What missis? Who has murdered her?’

But Il’ya made no reply to these questions… The part of the second messenger fell to the lot of a man who was not expected and whose appearance caused general surprise. Both the sudden appearance and the look of this man were astonishing… When the Count saw him, and remembered that Olga was walking about in the forest, his heart sank, and from a terrible presentiment his legs gave way under him.

It was Pëtr Egorych Urbenin, the Count’s former bailiff and Olga’s husband. At first the company heard heavy footsteps and the cracking of brushwood… It seemed as if a bear was making his way from the forest to the clearing. Then the heavy form of the unfortunate Pëtr Egorych came in sight. When he came out of the forest and saw the company assembled on the clearing, he stepped back and stopped as if he were rooted to the ground. For some while he remained silent and motionless, and in this way gave the people time to examine him properly. He had his usual grey jacket on and trousers that were already well worn. He was without a hat, and his matted hair stuck to his sweaty brow and temples… His face, which was usually purple and often almost blue, was now quite pale… His eyes looked around senselessly, staring wildly… His hands and lips trembled…

But what was the most astonishing and what instantly attracted the attention of the stupefied spectators were his bloodstained hands… Both his hands and shirt cuffs were thickly covered with blood, as if they had been washed in a bath of blood.

For several minutes Urbenin remained dumbstruck, and then, as if awakening from a dream, he sat down on the grass cross-legged and groaned. The dogs, scenting something unwonted, surrounded him and raised a bark… Having glanced round the assembly company with dim eyes, Urbenin covered his face with both hands and again there was silence…

‘Olga, Olga, what have you done!’ he groaned.

Heartrending sobs were torn from his breast and shook his broad shoulders… When he removed the hands from his face the whole company saw the marks of blood that they had left on his cheeks and forehead.

When he reached this point in his narrative the Count waved his hands convulsively, seized a glass of vodka, drank it off, and continued:

‘From that point my recollections become mixed. You can well understand all these events had so stunned me that I had lost the power of thinking… I can remember nothing that happened afterwards! I only remember that the men brought some sort of a body in a torn, bloodstained dress out of the wood… I could not look at it! They put it into a calash and drove off… I did not hear either groans or weeping… They say that the small dagger which she always carried about with her had been thrust into her side… You remember it? I had given it to her. It was a blunt dagger - blunter than the edge of this glass… What strength must have been necessary to plunge it in! Brother, I was fond of all those Caucasian weapons, but now may the deuce take the lot of them! Tomorrow I will have them all thrown away.’

The Count drank another glass of vodka and continued:

‘But what a disgrace! What an abomination! We brought her to the house… You can understand our despair, our horror, when suddenly, may the devil take them, we heard the gipsies gaily singing! There they were, all ranged in a row, singing at the top of their voices! You see, they wanted to make a show of receiving us, but it turned out to be quite misplaced… It was like Ivanushka-the-fool, who, meeting a funeral, became excited and shouted: “Pull away, you can’t pull it over!” Yes, brother! I wanted to entertain my guests and had ordered the gipsies, and what a muddle came of it! It was not gipsies who should have been sent for but doctors and priests. And now I don’t know what to do! What am I to do? I don’t know any of these formalities and customs. I don’t know who to call in, who to send for… Perhaps the police ought to come, the Public Prosecutor… How the devil should I know? Thank goodness, Father Jeremiah, having heard about the scandal, came to give her the Communion. I should never have thought of sending for him. I implore you, dear friend, make all the necessary arrangements! By God, I’m going mad! The arrival of my wife, the murder… Brrr! Where is my wife now? Have you seen her?’

‘I’ve seen her. She’s drinking tea with Pshekhotsky.’

‘With her brother, you say… Pshekhotsky, he’s a rogue! When I ran away from Petersburg secretly, he found out about my flight and has stuck to me ever since. What an amount of money he has been able to squeeze out of me during the whole of this time no one can calculate!’

I had not time to talk long to the Count. I rose and went to the door.

‘Listen,’ the Count stopped me. ‘I say, Serezha… that Urbenin won’t stab me?’

‘Did he stab Olga, then?’

‘To be sure, he… I can’t understand, however, how he came there! What the deuce brought him to the forest? And why to that part of the forest in particular? Admitting that he hid himself there and waited for us, how could he know that I wanted to stop just in that place and not in any other?’

‘You don’t understand anything,’ I said. ‘By-the-by, once for all I must beg you… If I undertake this case, please don’t tell me your opinions. Have the goodness to answer my questions and nothing more.’