"Marya Ivánofna," cried I, impatiently, "where is Marya Ivánofna?"
"The young lady is alive," replied Polashka; "she is hidden at Akoulina Pamphilovna's."
"In the pope's house!" I exclaimed, affrighted. "Good God! Pugatchéf is there!"
I rushed out of the room, in two jumps I was in the street and running wildly towards the pope's house. From within there resounded songs, shouts, and bursts of laughter; Pugatchéf was at the table with his companions. Polashka had followed me; I sent her secretly to call aside Akoulina Pamphilovna. The next minute the pope's wife came out into the ante-room, an empty bottle in her hand.
"In heaven's name where is Marya Ivánofna?" I asked, with indescribable agitation.
"She is in bed, the little dove," replied the pope's wife, "in my bed, behind the partition. Ah! Petr' Andréjïtch, a misfortune very nearly happened. But, thank God, all has passed happily over. The villain had scarcely sat down to table before the poor darling began to moan. I nearly died of fright. He heard her."
"'Who is that moaning, old woman?' said he.
"I saluted the robber down to the ground.
"'My niece, Tzar; she has been ill and in bed for more than a week.'
"'And your niece, is she young?'