“If misfortune should ever overtake you, and you are unable to obtain help or protection from anybody, will you promise to apply to me, to demand from me everything that may be necessary for your happiness? Will you promise not to reject my devotion?”
Maria Kirilovna wept silently. The whistle resounded for the third time.
“You will destroy me!” cried Doubrovsky: “but I will not leave you until you give me a reply. Do you promise me or not?”
“I promise!” murmured the poor girl.
Greatly agitated by her interview with Doubrovsky, Maria Kirilovna returned from the garden. As she approached the house, she perceived a great crowd of people in the courtyard; a troika was standing in front of the steps, the servants were running hither and thither, and the whole house was in a commotion. In the distance she heard the voice of Kirila Petrovitch, and she hastened to reach her room, fearing that her absence might be noticed. Kirila Petrovitch met her in the hall. The visitors were pressing round our old acquaintance the sheriff, and were overwhelming him with questions. The sheriff, in travelling dress, and armed from head to foot, answered them with a mysterious and anxious air.
“Where have you been, Masha?” asked Kirila Petrovitch. “Have you seen Monsieur Desforges?”
Masha could scarcely answer in the negative.
“Just imagine,” continued Kirila Petrovitch: “the sheriff has come to arrest him, and assures me that he is Doubrovsky.”
“He answers the description in every respect, Your Excellency,” said the sheriff respectfully.
“Oh! brother,” interrupted Kirila Petrovitch, “go to—you know where—with your descriptions. I will not surrender my Frenchman to you until I have investigated the matter myself. How can anyone believe the word of Anton Pafnoutitch, a coward and a clown? He must have dreamt that the tutor wanted to rob him. Why didn’t he tell me about it the next morning? He never said a word about the matter.