I have been back at the triangular enclosure where the tombs are. Beside Brunen's they have dug a fresh grave.
Oh, I must get away! Cold and hunger along the cruel highway—anything rather than this mystery and this horror.
But they have me in their grip; they watch me day and night. . . .
I have made a discovery. Perhaps it will save me. Ossip pours something into the chur from a black bottle.
Where does he keep the bottle?
I have found the bottle. There is a colorless liquid in it, with a sweet odor.
I will do something this evening. . . .
I have done it. I have poured the stuff into their tea. . . .
Will they notice it? Oh, how my heart beats!
They are drinking it! There is hope. . . .
Ossip fell asleep first. Velitcho turned and looked at me in astonishment; then a ferocious light came into his eyes and he reached for his revolver. But he never got his hand on it. He fell forward on the table, sound asleep.
I found Ossip's keys, but as I was opening the heavy gate of the cemetery the thought came to me that my task was not finished. I still had an enigma to solve and eight deaths to avenge. And as long as those fellows were alive, I should have them on my trail.
I went back. I took Velitcho's revolver, set the muzzle against one head after the other, at the place where I have the little red wound that pains me. I pulled the trigger twice. . . .
Neither one of them moved. No, Ossip did quiver once. And alone with the two corpses, I awaited the mystery of midnight.
I had put the three cups on the table, just as Ossip set them there every evening. I put the keepers' caps on their heads so as to cover the red marks. If you had looked in at the window, you would have supposed that the two were asleep.
Then I sat and waited. Oh, how slowly the hands of the clock crawled around toward midnight, the hour for Ossip's chur! The blood of the dead men dripped to the floor, drop after drop. It made a gentle little sound like the dripping of the rain from the leaves of the trees in the springtime.
All at once the curlew cried. . . .
I lay down on my cot, and held myself perfectly still, as if I were asleep. The curlew cried again, nearer than the first time. Something was scratching against the window-pane.
Silence.
The door opened, very softly. Someone or something had entered the room. A sickening odor, like the smell of a corpse.
I could hear stealthy steps approaching my cot. Then suddenly a heavy weight came down on my body. Sharp teeth bit into my aching wound, and disgusting icy lips sucked gluttonously at my blood.
I cried out and struggled to my feet. And a hideous cry answered mine.
What I saw was so frightful that it took all my strength to keep my feet. Two paces away from me, the same nightmare face that I had seen once at the window fixes me with its eyes of flame, and from its lips trickles a stream of red blood, my blood!
The Duchess Opoltchenska, fiendish vampire, has prolonged her foul life by
