Arkadie answered:
"Why I decided is the profoundest secret of my soul."
"Or perhaps you are charmed against bullets, and therefore are not afraid of pistols."
"Pistols are trifles," answered Arkadie, "I did not even think of them."
"How so? Is it possible that you dared to think your Count's word is more sacred than mine, and that I would not have shot you if you had cut me? If you are not charmed, you would have lost your life."
At the mention of the Count, Arkadie staggered again, and said as if half in a dream:
"I am not charmed against bullets, but God has given me sense. Before you had had time to take the pistol in your hand to shoot me, I would have cut your throat with the razor."
With that he rushed out of the house and returned to the theatre, just in time to dress my hair. He was trembling all over. As he arranged each curl he bent over me to blow it into its place, and always whispered the same words in my ear:
"Don't be afraid, I will carry you off."
