The Daughter of the Commandant Part 18

"Ah! I had forgotten to thank you for your horse and '_touloup_.' Had it not been for you, I should never have reached the town, for I should have died of cold on the journey."

My stratagem succeeded. Pugatchef became good-humoured.

"The beauty of a debt is the payment!" said he, with his usual wink.

"Now, tell me the whole story. What have you to do with this young girl whom Chvabrine is persecuting? Has she not hooked your young affections, eh?"

"She is my betrothed," I replied, as I observed the favourable change taking place in Pugatchef, and seeing no risk in telling him the truth.

"Your betrothed!" cried Pugatchef. "Why didn't you tell me before? We will marry you, and have a fine junket at your wedding." Then, turning to Beloborodoff, "Listen, field-marshal," said he, "we are old friends, his lords.h.i.+p and me; let us sit down to supper. To-morrow we will see what is to be done with him; one's brains are clearer in the morning than by night."

I should willingly have refused the proposed honour, but I could not get out of it. Two young Cossack girls, children of the master of the "_izba_," laid the table with a white cloth, brought bread, fish, soup, and big jugs of wine and beer.

Thus for the second time I found myself at the table of Pugatchef and his terrible companions. The orgy of which I became the involuntary witness went on till far into the night.

At last drunkenness overcame the guests; Pugatchef fell asleep in his place, and his companions rose, making me a sign to leave him.

I went out with them. By the order of Khlopusha the sentry took me to the lockup, where I found Saveliitch, and I was left alone with him under lock and key.

My retainer was so astounded by the turn affairs had taken that he did not address a single question to me. He lay down in the dark, and for a long while I heard him moan and lament. At last, however, he began to snore, and as for me, I gave myself up to thoughts which did not allow me to close my eyes for a moment all night.

On the morrow morning Pugatchef sent someone to call me.

I went to his house. Before his door stood a "_kibitka_" with three Tartar horses. The crowd filled the street. Pugatchef, whom I met in the ante-room, was dressed in a travelling suit, a pelisse and Kirghiz cap.

His guests of yesterday evening surrounded him, and wore a submissive air, which contrasted strongly with what I had witnessed the previous evening.

Pugatchef gaily bid me "good morning," and ordered me to seat myself beside him in the "_kibitka_." We took our places.

"To Fort Belogorsk!" said Pugatchef to the robust Tartar driver, who standing guided the team. My heart beat violently.

The horses dashed forward, the little bell tinkled, the "_kibitka_,"

bounded across the snow.

"Stop! stop!" cried a voice which I knew but too well; and I saw Saveliitch running towards us. Pugatchef bid the man stop.

"Oh! my father, Petr' Andrejtch," cried my follower, "don't forsake me in my old age among the rob--"

"Aha! old owl!" said Pugatchef, "so G.o.d again brings us together. Here, seat yourself in front."

"Thanks, Tzar, thanks my own father," replied Saveliitch, taking his seat. "May G.o.d give you a hundred years of life for having rea.s.sured a poor old man. I shall pray G.o.d all my life for you, and I'll never talk about the hareskin '_touloup_.'"

This hareskin "_touloup_" might end at last by making Pugatchef seriously angry. But the usurper either did not hear or pretended not to hear this ill-judged remark. The horses again galloped.

The people stopped in the street, and each one saluted us, bowing low.

Pugatchef bent his head right and left.

In a moment we were out of the village and were taking our course over a well-marked road. What I felt may be easily imagined. In a few hours I should see again her whom I had thought lost to me for ever. I imagined to myself the moment of our reunion, but I also thought of the man in whose hands lay my destiny, and whom a strange concourse of events bound to me by a mysterious link.

I recalled the rough cruelty and b.l.o.o.d.y habits of him who was disposed to prove the defender of my love. Pugatchef did not know she was the daughter of Captain Mironoff; Chvabrine, driven to bay, was capable of telling him all, and Pugatchef might learn the truth in other ways.

Then, what would become of Marya? At this thought a shudder ran through my body, and my hair seemed to stand on end.

All at once Pugatchef broke upon my reflections.

"What does your lords.h.i.+p," 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 G.o.d, 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 gla.s.s 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 Jouzeff?[65] 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,[66] 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--

"G.o.d 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 ma.s.sacred, 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 pa.s.sing 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 Yak. A quarter of an hour afterwards we were entering Fort Belogorsk.

CHAPTER XII.