I called out my name. The sweet voice of Maria Ivanovna sounded from behind the door:
“Wait a moment, Peter Andreitch. I am changing my dress. Go to Akoulina Pamphilovna; I shall be there presently.”
I obeyed and made my way to the house of Father Jerasim. He and his wife came forward to meet me Savelitch had already informed them of what had happened.
“You are welcome, Peter Andreitch,” said the pope’s wife. “God has ordained that we should meet again. And how are you? Not a day has passed without our talking about you. And Maria Ivanovna, the poor little dove, what has she not suffered while you have been away! But tell us, little father, how did you manage to arrange matters with Pougatcheff? How was it that he did not put you to death? The villain be thanked for that, at all events!”
“Enough, old woman,” interrupted Father Gerasim. “Don’t babble about everything that you know. There is; no salvation for chatterers. Come in, Peter Andreitch, I beg of you. It is a long, long time since we saw each other.” The pope’s wife set before me everything that she had in the house, without ceasing to chatter away for a single moment. She related to me in what manner Shvabrin had compelled them to deliver Maria Ivanovna up to him; how the poor girl wept and did not wish to be parted from them; how she had kept up a constant communication with them; by means of Palashka[1] (a bold girl who compelled the orderly himself to dance to her pipe); how she had advised Maria Ivanovna to write a letter to me, and so forth.
I then, in my turn, briefly related to them my story. The pope and his wife made the sign of the cross on hearing that; Pougatcheff had become acquainted with their deception.
“The power of the Cross defend us!” ejaculated Akoulina Pamphilovna. “May God grant that the cloud will pass over. Well, well, Alexei Ivanitch, you are a very nice fellow: there is no denying that!”
At that moment the door opened, and Maria Ivanovna entered the room with a smile upon her pale face. She had doffed her peasant’s dress, and was attired as before, plainly and becomingly.
I grasped her hand and for some time could not utter a single word. We were both silent from fulness of heart. Our hosts felt that their presence was unnecessary to us, and so they withdrew. We were left by ourselves. Everything else was forgotten. We talked and talked and could not say enough to each other. Maria related to me all that had happened to her since the capture of the fortress; she described to me all the horror of her situation, all the trials which she had experienced at the hands of the detestable Shvabrin. We recalled to mind the happy days of the past, and we could not prevent the tears coming into our eyes. At last I began to explain to her my project. For her to remain in the fortress, subjected to Pougatcheff and commanded by Shvabrin, was impossible. Neither could I think of taking her to Orenburg, just then undergoing all the calamities of a siege. She had not a single relative in the whole world. I proposed to her that she should seek shelter with my parents. She hesitated at first: my father’s unfriendly disposition towards her frightened her. I made her mind easy on that score. I knew that my father would consider himself bound in honour to receive into his house the daughter of a brave and deserving soldier who had lost his life in the service of his country.
“Dear Maria Ivanovna,” I said at last: “I look upon you as my wife. Strange circumstances have united us together indissolubly; nothing in the world can separate us.”