“This will be a hard search for you,” the Crow said. “At least leave us your silver snuff-box; we can gaze on it and think of you.”
So Iván Tsarévich left them his silver snuff-box, and set out on his road.
Then a day went and another day, and on the third day he at last reached Márya Moryévna. When she saw her beloved through the window, she rushed out to him, flung herself at his neck, wept, and said, “Oh! Iván Tsarévich, why did you not obey me? Why did you look into the lumber-room and let Koshchéy the Deathless out?”
“Forgive me, Márya Moryévna; let bygones be bygones: come away with me now, whilst Koshchéy the Deathless is away: possibly he may not catch us up.”
So they went away.
Now Koshchéy was out hunting. Towards evening he returned home, and his horse stumbled. “Why, you sorry jade, are you stumbling, or is it some evil that you fear?”
And the horse answered: “Iván Tsarévich has arrived, and has taken away Márya Moryévna.”
“Can one catch them up?”
“You can sow wheat, wait until it grows up, harvest it, thresh it, turn it into flour, make five stones of bread, eat the bread, and then set out on the hunt, and we shall succeed.”
Koshchéy leapt on the horse, caught up Iván Tsarévich. “Now,” he said, “for the first time I will let you go for your doughtyhood, as you fed me with water; for the second time I will let you go; for the third time, take care: I will tear you to morsels.” And he took Márya Moryévna from him, took her away, and Iván Tsarévich sat on the stone and cried.