“No, let us stay here!” said Vaninka, holding her back with a grasp of almost masculine strength.  “Let us stay until the house falls in on them, so that we may be certain that not one of them escapes.”

“Oh, my God!” cried Annouschka, falling on her knees, “have mercy upon my poor brother, for death will hurry him unprepared into Thy presence.”

“Yes, yes, pray; that is right,” said Vaninka.  “I wish to destroy their bodies, not their souls.”

Vaninka stood motionless, her arms crossed, brilliantly lit up by the flames, while her attendant prayed.  The fire did not last long:  the house was wooden, with the crevices filled with oakum, like all those of Russian peasants, so that the flames, creeping out at the four corners, soon made great headway, and, fanned by the wind, spread rapidly to all parts of the building.  Vaninka followed the progress of the fire with blazing eyes, fearing to see some half-burnt spectral shape rush out of the flames.  At last the roof fell in, and Vaninka, relieved of all fear, then at last made her way to the general’s house, into which the two women entered without being seen, thanks to the permission Annouschka had to go out at any hour of the day or night.

The next morning the sole topic of conversation in St. Petersburg was the fire at the Red House.  Four half-consumed corpses were dug out from beneath the ruins, and as three of the general’s slaves were missing, he had no doubt that the unrecognisable bodies were those of Ivan, Daniel, and Alexis:  as for the fourth, it was certainly that of Gregory.

The cause of the fire remained a secret from everyone:  the house was solitary, and the snowstorm so violent that nobody had met the two women on the deserted road.  Vaninka was sure of her maid.  Her secret then had perished with Ivan.  But now remorse took the place of fear:  the young girl who was so pitiless and inflexible in the execution of the deed quailed at its remembrance.  It seemed to her that by revealing the secret of her crime to a priest, she would be relieved of her terrible burden.  She therefore sought a confessor renowned for his lofty charity, and, under the seal of confession, told him all.  The priest was horrified by the story.  Divine mercy is boundless, but human forgiveness has its limits.  He refused Vaninka the absolution she asked.  This refusal was terrible:  it would banish Vaninka from the Holy Table; this banishment would be noticed, and could not fail to be attributed to some unheard-of and secret crime.  Vaninka fell at the feet of the priest, and in the name of her father, who would be disgraced by her shame, begged him to mitigate the rigour of this sentence.

The confessor reflected deeply, then thought he had found a way to obviate such consequences.  It was that Vaninka should approach the Holy Table with the other young girls; the priest would stop before her as before all the others, but only say to her, “Pray and weep”; the congregation, deceived by this, would think that she had received the Sacrament like her companions.  This was all that Vaninka could obtain.