"I will do so, Ivan," said Tottleben. "I will give them both their freedom, and a pension."
Ivan dropped his head, and a convulsive groan burst from his breast.
"Time passes; make haste!" cried the general, with assumed harshness.
"I go, master," sighed Ivan. "You will not, then, string up my poor
Feodor, nor have my wife whipped?"
"If you execute my order strictly and punctually, I will care for them."
Two tears coursed slowly down Ivan's brown cheek. "I will carry out your orders, master; I will smoke, and I will drop my pipe. Farewell, master!"
He approached his master with slavish humility, and kissed the seam of his garment. "Farewell, master. I thank you, for you have always been a kind master to me," said he, and his tears moistened the general's coat.
General Tottleben was as yet unable completely to convert his German heart into a Russian one. He felt himself touched by this humble and heroic submission of his slave. He felt as if he must give him some comfort on his fatal road.
"Ivan," said he, softly, "your death will save, perhaps, not only the property, but also the lives of many hundred other men."
Ivan kissed passionately his proffered hand. "I thank you, master.
Farewell, and think sometimes of your poor Ivan."