‘Nothing, my friend—what should I know? I may have my opinion—namely, that he was a robber and no spy; but as for knowing—what should I know?’
‘Swear it by thy horse and lance!’
‘Oh, most suspicious and unfriendly of friends, I do so swear, if so it must be!’
‘Good; there is no more need for suspicion. If I catch the fellow following again, I shall kill him at sight for a mere cutpurse, or rather for a would-be cutpurse.’
‘Do so, my friend,’ said Mazeppa; ‘he deserves his fate for having come, in a manner, between old friends.’
‘Verily, Mazeppa,’ I thought, as I left my fox, ‘thou art a most wondrously gifted liar!’ For indeed he had lied thoroughly, even taking our Cossack oath in witness to his falsehood, without the twitching of an eyelid.
This day I went out to visit Vera once again at her monastery, but though I looked constantly and carefully for followers I observed none, and it is certain that I was not watched. I reached the sanctuary in safety, moreover, and was received first by the Superior, who was pleased to see me.
‘For thy fair friend perishes to hear news of all that is happening at home and at Court,’ she said; ‘and, if the truth must be known, I believe she will not be averse to see her preserver and knight, being somewhat anxious for his safety lest he be suspected of capturing and concealing her.’
‘Let her come, good mother,’ I said, ‘for indeed I begin to think there is no sight on earth that delights me more than her fair face.’
‘Ah—ah! said I not so?’ murmured the good soul, gently patting my arm as she left the room to fetch Vera. ‘So the faithless maid who preferred her chance at the terem to thy assured love is already forgotten? Oh, man, man! this Vera is too good for so faithless a swain!’