All at once Pugatchef broke upon my reflections.

"What does your lordship," said he, "deign to think about?"

"How can you expect me to be thinking?" replied I. "I am an officer and a gentleman; but yesterday I was waging war with you, and now I am travelling with you in the same carriage, and the whole happiness of my life depends on you."

"What," said Pugatchef, "are you afraid?"

I made reply that having already received my life at his hands, I trusted not merely in his good nature but in his help.

"And you are right - 'fore God, you are right," resumed the usurper; "you saw that my merry men looked askance at you. Even to-day the little old man wanted to prove indubitably to me that you were a spy, and should be put to the torture and hung. But I would not agree," added he, lowering his voice, lest Saveliitch and the Tartar should hear him, "because I bore in mind your glass of wine and your 'touloup.' You see clearly that I am not bloodthirsty, as your comrades would make out."

Remembering the taking of Fort Belogorsk, I did not think wise to contradict him, and I said nothing.

"What do they say of me in Orenburg?" asked Pugatchef, after a short silence.

"Well, it is said that you are not easy to get the better of. You will agree we have had our hands full with you."

The face of the usurper expressed the satisfaction of self-love.

"Yes," said he, with a glorious air, "I am a great warrior. Do they know in Orenburg of the battle of Jouzeiff? Forty Generals were killed, four armies made prisoners. Do you think the King of Prussia is about my strength?"

This boasting of the robber rather amused me.

"What do you think yourself?" I said to him. "Could you beat Frederick?"

"Fedor Fedorovitch, eh! why not? I can beat your Generals, and your

Generals have beaten him. Until now my arms have been victorious. Wait a

bit - only wait a bit - you'll see something when I shall march on

Moscow?"

"And you are thinking of marching on Moscow?"

The usurper appeared to reflect. Then he said, half-aloud - "God knows my way is straight. I have little freedom of action. My fellows don't obey me - they are marauders. I have to keep a sharp look out - at the first reverse they would save their necks with my head."

"Well," I said to Pugatchef, "would it not be better to forsake them yourself, ere it be too late, and throw yourself on the mercy of the Tzarina?"

Pugatchef smiled bitterly.

"No," said he, "the day of repentance is past and gone; they will not give me grace. I must go on as I have begun. Who knows? It may be. Grischka Otrepieff certainly became Tzar at Moscow."

"But do you know his end? He was cast out of a window, he was massacred, burnt, and his ashes blown abroad at the cannon's mouth, to the four winds of heaven."

The Tartar began to hum a plaintive song; Saveliitch, fast asleep, oscillated from one side to the other. Our "kibitka" was passing quickly over the wintry road. All at once I saw a little village I knew well, with a palisade and a belfry, on the rugged bank of the Yaik. A quarter of an hour afterwards we were entering Fort Belogorsk.

CHAPTER XII.

THE ORPHAN.

The "kibitka" stopped before the door of the Commandant's house. The inhabitants had recognized the little bell of Pugatchef's team, and had assembled in a crowd. Chvabrine came to meet the usurper; he was dressed as a Cossack, and had allowed his beard to grow.

The traitor helped Pugatchef to get out of the carriage, expressing by obsequious words his zeal and joy.

Seeing me he became uneasy, but soon recovered himself.

"You are one of us," said he; "it should have been long ago."

I turned away my head without answering him. My heart failed me when we entered the little room I knew so well, where could still be seen on the wall the commission of the late deceased Commandant, as a sad memorial.

Pugatchef sat down on the same sofa where ofttimes Ivan Kouzmitch had dozed to the sound of his wife's scolding.

Chvabrine himself brought brandy to his chief. Pugatchef drank a glass of it, and said to him, pointing to me - "Offer one to his lordship."

Chvabrine approached me with his tray. I turned away my head for the second time. He seemed beside himself. With his usual sharpness he had doubtless guessed that Pugatchef was not pleased with me. He regarded him with alarm and me with mistrust. Pugatchef asked him some questions on the condition of the fort, on what was said concerning the Tzarina's troops, and other similar subjects. Then suddenly and in an unexpected manner - "Tell me, brother," asked he, "who is this young girl you are keeping under watch and ward? Show me her."

Chvabrine became pale as death.

"Tzar," he said, in a trembling voice, "Tzar, she is not under restraint; she is in bed in her room."

"Take me to her," said the usurper, rising.

It was impossible to hesitate. Chvabrine led Pugatchef to Marya

Ivanofna's room. I followed them. Chvabrine stopped on the stairs.

"Tzar," said he, "you can constrain me to do as you list, but do not permit a stranger to enter my wife's room."

"You are married!" cried I, ready to tear him in pieces.

"Hush!" interrupted Pugatchef, "it is my concern. And you," continued he, turning towards Chvabrine, "do not swagger; whether she be your wife or no, I take whomsoever I please to see her. Your lordship, follow me."

At the door of the room Chvabrine again stopped, and said, in a broken voice - "Tzar, I warn you she is feverish, and for three days she has been delirious."

"Open!" said Pugatchef.

Chvabrine began to fumble in his pockets, and ended by declaring he had forgotten the key.

Pugatchef gave a push to the door with his foot, the lock gave way, the door opened, and we went in. I cast a rapid glance round the room and nearly fainted. Upon the floor, in a coarse peasant's dress, sat Marya, pale and thin, with her hair unbound. Before her stood a jug of water and a bit of bread. At the sight of me she trembled and gave a piercing cry. I cannot say what I felt. Pugatchef looked sidelong at Chvabrine, and said to him with a bitter smile - "Your hospital is well-ordered!" Then, approaching Marya, "Tell me, my little dove, why your husband punishes you thus?"

"My husband!" rejoined she; "he is not my husband. Never will I be his wife. I am resolved rather to die, and I shall die if I be not delivered."

Pugatchef cast a furious glance upon Chvabrine.

"You dared deceive me," cried he. "Do you know, villain, what you deserve?"

Chvabrine dropped on his knees. Then contempt overpowered in me all feelings of hatred and revenge. I looked with disgust upon a gentleman at the feet of a Cossack deserter. Pugatchef allowed himself to be moved.

"I pardon you this time," he said, to Chvabrine; "but next offence I will remember this one." Then, addressing Marya, he said to her, gently, "Come out, pretty one; I give you your liberty. I am the Tzar."

Marya Ivanofna threw a quick look at him, and divined that the murderer of her parents was before her eyes. She covered her face with her hands, and fell unconscious.

I was rushing to help her, when my old acquaintance, Polashka, came very boldly into the room, and took charge of her mistress.

Pugatchef withdrew, and we all three returned to the parlour.

"Well, your lordship," Pugatchef said to me, laughing, "we have delivered the pretty girl; what do you say to it? Ought we not to send for the pope and get him to marry his niece? If you like I will be your marriage godfather, Chvabrine best man; then we will set to and drink with closed doors."

What I feared came to pass.

No sooner had he heard Pugatchef's proposal than Chvabrine lost his head.

"Tzar," said he, furiously, "I am guilty, I have lied to you; but Grineff also deceives you. This young girl is not the pope's niece; she is the daughter of Ivan Mironoff, who was executed when the fort was taken."

Pugatchef turned his flashing eyes on me.

"What does all this mean?" cried he, with indignant surprise.

But I made answer boldly - "Chvabrine has told you the truth."

"You had not told me that," rejoined Pugatchef, whose brow had suddenly darkened.

"But judge yourself," replied I; "could I declare before all your people that she was Mironoff's daughter? They would have torn her in pieces, nothing could have saved her."

"Well, you are right," said Pugatchef. "My drunkards would not have spared the poor girl; my gossip, the pope's wife, did right to deceive them."

"Listen," I resumed, seeing how well disposed he was towards me, "I do not know what to call you, nor do I seek to know. But God knows I stand ready to give my life for what you have done for me. Only do not ask of me anything opposed to my honour and my conscience as a Christian. You are my benefactor; end as you have begun. Let me go with the poor orphan whither God shall direct, and whatever befall and wherever you be we will pray God every day that He watch over the safety of your soul."

I seemed to have touched Pugatchef's fierce heart.

"Be it even as you wish," said he. "Either entirely punish or entirely pardon; that is my motto. Take your pretty one, take her away wherever you like, and may God grant you love and wisdom."

He turned towards Chvabrine, and bid him write me a safe conduct pass for all the gates and forts under his command. Chvabrine remained still, and as if petrified.

Pugatchef went to inspect the fort; Chvabrine followed him, and I stayed behind under the pretext of packing up. I ran to Marya's room. The door was shut; I knocked.

"Who is there?" asked Polashka.

I gave my name. Marya's gentle voice was then heard through the door.

"Wait, Petr' Andrejitch," said she, "I am changing my dress. Go to

Akoulina Pamphilovna's; I shall be there in a minute."

I obeyed and went to Father Garasim's house.

The pope and his wife hastened to meet me. Saveliitch had already told them all that had happened.

"Good-day, Petr' Andrejitch," the pope's wife said to me; "here has God so ruled that we meet again. How are you? We have talked about you every day. And Marya Ivanofna, what has she not suffered anent you, my pigeon? But tell me, my father, how did you get out of the difficulty with Pugatchef? How was it that he did not kill you? Well, for that, thanks be to the villain."

"There, hush, old woman," interrupted Father Garasim; "don't gossip about all you know; too much talk, no salvation. Come in, Petr' Andrejitch, and welcome. It is long since we have seen each other."

The pope's wife did me honour with everything she had at hand, without ceasing a moment to talk.

She told me how Chvabrine had obliged them to deliver up Marya Ivanofna to him; how the poor girl cried, and would not be parted from them; how she had had continual intercourse with them through the medium of Polashka, a resolute, sharp girl who made the "ouriadnik" himself dance (as they say) to the sound of her flageolet; how she had counselled Marya Ivanofna to write me a letter, etc. As for me, in a few words I told my story.

The pope and his wife crossed themselves when they heard that Pugatchef was aware they had deceived him.

"May the power of the cross be with us!" Akoulina Pamphilovna said. "May God turn aside this cloud. Very well, Alexey Ivanytch, we shall see! Oh! the sly fox!"