"Well," I said to Pugatchéf, "would it not be better to forsake them yourself, ere it be too late, and throw yourself on the mercy of the Tzarina?"
Pugatchéf 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 Otrépieff 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; Savéliitch, 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 Yaïk. A quarter of an hour afterwards we were entering Fort Bélogorsk.
CHAPTER XII. — THE ORPHAN.
The "kibitka" stopped before the door of the Commandant's house. The inhabitants had recognized the little bell of Pugatchéf'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 Pugatchéf to get out of the carriage, expressing by obsequious words his zeal and joy.