"Oh, my fathers!" cried the poor old woman. "Let me alone, I pray you; my fathers, my fathers, bring me to Iván Kouzmitch." All of a sudden she perceived the gallows and recognized her husband. "Villains!" she exclaimed, beside herself; "what have you done? Oh, my light, my Iván Kouzmitch! Bold soldier heart, neither Prussian bayonets nor Turkish bullets ever harmed you; and you have died before a vile runaway felon."
"Silence the old witch," said Pugatchéf.
A young Cossack struck her with his sword on the head, and she fell dead at the foot of the steps. Pugatchéf went away, all the people crowding in his train.
CHAPTER VIII. — THE UNEXPECTED VISIT.
The square remained empty. I stood in the same place, unable to collect my thoughts, disturbed by so many terrible events.
My uncertainty about Marya Ivánofna's fate tormented me more than I can say. Where was she? What had become of her? Had she had time to hide herself? Was her place of refuge safe and sure? Full of these oppressive thoughts, I went to the Commandant's house. All was empty. The chairs, the tables, the presses were burned, and the crockery in bits; the place was in dreadful disorder. I quickly ran up the little stair which led to Marya's room, where I was about to enter for the first time in my life.
Her bed was topsy-turvy, the press open and ransacked. A lamp still burned before the "kivott"[56] equally empty; but a small looking-glass hanging between the door and window had not been taken away. What had become of the inmate of this simple maiden's cell? A terrible apprehension crossed my mind. I thought of Marya in the hands of the robbers. My heart failed me; I burst into tears and murmured the name of my loved one. At this moment I heard a slight noise, and Polashka, very pale, came out from behind the press.
"Oh, Petr' Andréjïtch," said she, wringing her hands; "what a day, what horrors!"