Pugatchéf was gone.
I long watched the steppe over which his "kibitka" was rapidly gliding.
The crowd dwindled away; Chvabrine disappeared. I went back to the pope's house, where all was being made ready for our departure. Our little luggage had been put in the old vehicle of the Commandant. In a moment the horses were harnessed.
Marya went to bid a last farewell to the tomb of her parents, buried behind the church.
I wished to escort her there, but she begged me to let her go alone, and soon came back, weeping quiet tears.
Father Garasim and his wife came to the door to see us off. We took our seats, three abreast, inside the "kibitka," and Savéliitch again perched in front.
"Good-bye, Marya Ivánofna, our dear dove; good-bye, Petr' Andréjïtch, our gay goshawk!" the pope's wife cried to us. "A lucky journey to you, and may God give you abundant happiness!"
We started. At the Commandant's window I saw Chvabrine standing, with a face of dark hatred.
I did not wish to triumph meanly over a humbled enemy, and looked away from him.
At last we passed the principal gate, and for ever left Fort Bélogorsk.