The Russian general inquired as to what had happened; and upon being informed of the shameless attack on the commandant’s daughter he was outraged. He called for Count F . . . by name. And after first briefly praising him for his own noble behavior – whereby the count turned red in the face – he concluded that he intended to have the scoundrels who besmirched the czar’s good name shot by firing squad; and he ordered the count to tell him who they were. Count F . . . replied in a rambling statement that he was unable to give their names, since it had been impossible to recognize their faces in the dim light of reverberating gunfire. The general, who had heard that the castle was in flames at the time of the attack, expressed his surprise; he remarked that even at night one could well recognize familiar people by the sound of their voices; and ordered the count, who shrugged his shoulders and looked askance, to make haste to investigate the matter rigorously. At that moment someone who pushed his way forward from the rear reported that one of those scoundrels wounded by the count had collapsed in the corridor, and that the commandant’s people had since dragged him to a holding cell, where he could still be found. The general had the latter brought up by a guard for a brief interrogation; and after the knave had named the whole gang, five in all, the general had them shot. This having been accomplished, and after leaving behind a small occupying detail, the general gave orders for the decampment of all remaining troops; the officers hastily dispersed among their various corps; amidst the confusion of the scattering soldiers, the count approached the commandant and expressed his regrets that, under these circumstances, he was compelled to respectfully bid farewell to Madame la Marquise; and in less than an hour the entire fort was once again free of Russians.

The family pondered how in the future they might find an occasion to show some expression of their gratitude to the count; but how great was their horror upon learning that on the very day of his departure from the fort he met his death in an engagement with enemy forces. The messenger who brought this sad news back to M . . . had with his own eyes seen him mortally wounded in the breast, carried to P . . . , where, according to an irrefutable source, at the moment the stretcher-bearers lowered him from their shoulders he gave up the ghost. The commandant, who personally went to the guardhouse to confer with the messenger and inquire as to the specific circumstances, learned that on the battlefield, at the moment he was hit by the shot, he was said to have cried out: “Julietta! This bullet avenges your dishonoring!” whereupon his lips shut forever. The marquise was distraught that she had let the opportunity pass to fling herself at his feet. She heaped the bitterest blame upon herself that, in light of his heart-stirring hesitation to make an appearance in the castle, due, no doubt, in her view, to his modesty, that she had not taken the initiative to seek him out herself; she felt profound pity for her unlucky namesake, of whom he had thought at the moment of dying; she sought in vain to find out where the woman lived so as to inform her of this sad and stirring occurrence; and many months passed before she herself could put him out of her mind.

The family was obliged to quit the commandant’s residence to make room for the Russian commanding officer. They considered at first retiring to Colonel von G . . . ’s country estate, to which the marquise felt a great attachment; but since the colonel did not like country life the family moved into a house in the city, fitting it out as a permanent residence. Everything returned to normal. The marquise resumed the long-interrupted education of her children, brought out her easel and books for leisure moments, whereupon, heretofore the epitome of good health, she felt herself beset by repeated indispositions, taking her out of circulation for weeks at a time.