“Oh, my father!” said my poor servant, “why should you wish for the death of this noble child? Let him go you will get a good ransom for him; if you want to make an example of somebody for the sake of terrifying others order me to be hanged—an old man!”
Pougatcheff gave a sign, and I was immediately unbound and set at liberty.
“Our father pardons you,” said the rebels who had charge of me.
I cannot say that at that moment I rejoiced at my deliverance, neither will I say that I was sorry for it. My feelings were too confused. I was again led before the usurper and compelled to kneel down in front of him. Pougatcheff stretched out to me his sinewy hand.
“Kiss his hand, kiss his hand!” exclaimed voices on every side of me.
But I would have preferred the most cruel punishment to such contemptible degradation.
“My little father, Peter Andreitch,” whispered Savelitch standing behind me and nudging my elbow, “do not be obstinate. What will it cost you? Spit[5] and kiss the brig——pshaw! kiss his hand!”
I did not move. Pougatcheff withdrew his hand, saying with a smile:
“His lordship seems bewildered with joy. Lift him up!”
I was raised to my feet and released. I then stood by to observe the continuation of the terrible comedy.