Their merriment, however, was of short continuance—only an involuntary burst, for a moment’s reflection told them that Pouchskin, although they saw him alive, might nevertheless have sustained some serious injury; and both at the thought hastened up towards the head.
On getting close to it, however, Ivan was unable to control himself, and once more gave way to a fit of involuntary laughter. The head of the old guardsman, standing up like a sphinx above the frozen surface,—his grizzled hair powdered all over with snow like the poll of some grand flunkey,—his long moustache loaded with it,—his eyes sparkling and twinkling, and his features set in a serio-comic expression,—all combined to form a picture that it was difficult to contemplate with seriousness.
Alexis, however, anxious to ascertain as to whether Pouchskin had received any dangerous wound, did not this time join in his brother’s mirth; and, as soon as they came near enough, his inquiries were directed to that end.
“Only scratched a bit, masters!” answered the old guardsman,—“only scratched a bit—nothing much; but the bear—the bear! where has the brute gone?”
“To his long home,” answered Alexis; “you need be under no further apprehension about him. I think your knife must have well-nigh settled his account, for he was unable to get out of the hole again; but, fortunately, I have finished him with a bullet, and it only remains for us to haul his carcass up and take the skin off it. First, however, let us endeavour to extricate you, my good Pouchskin; and then you can tell us by what means you have managed to make an escape that certainly appears miraculous!”
So saying, Alexis, assisted by Ivan, commenced digging away the hard crust that surrounded the neck of Pouchskin; and kept on at it, until they had uncovered his shoulders. Then seizing him by the arms—one on each side—they drew him up, till his feet once more rested on the surface of the snow.