My heart failed me; I burst into tears and murmured the
name of my loved one. At this moment I heard a slight noise, and
Polashka, very pale, came out from behind the press.
"Oh, Petr' Andrejitch," said she, wringing her hands; "what a day, what
horrors!"
"Marya Ivanofna," cried I, impatiently, "where is Marya Ivanofna?"
"The young lady is alive," replied Polashka; "she is hidden at Akoulina
Pamphilovna's."
"In the pope's house!" I exclaimed, affrighted. "Good God! Pugatchef is
there!"
I rushed out of the room, in two jumps I was in the street and running
wildly towards the pope's house. From within there resounded songs,
shouts, and bursts of laughter; Pugatchef was at the table with his
companions. Polashka had followed me; I sent her secretly to call aside
Akoulina Pamphilovna. The next minute the pope's wife came out into the
ante-room, an empty bottle in her hand.
"In heaven's name where is Marya Ivanofna?" I asked, with indescribable
agitation.
"She is in bed, the little dove," replied the pope's wife, "in my bed,
behind the partition. Ah! Petr' Andrejitch, a misfortune very nearly
happened. But, thank God, all has passed happily over. The villain had
scarcely sat down to table before the poor darling began to moan.
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