It was getting dark when I reached the house of the Commandant.
The gallows, with its victims, stood out black and terrible; the body of
the Commandant's poor wife still lay beneath the porch, close by two
Cossacks, who were on guard.
He who had brought me went in to announce my arrival. He came back
almost directly, and ushered me into the room where, the previous
evening, I had bidden good-bye to Marya Ivanofna.
I saw a strange scene before me. At a table covered with a cloth and
laden with bottles and glasses was seated Pugatchef, surrounded by ten
Cossack chiefs, in high caps and coloured shirts, heated by wine, with
flushed faces and sparkling eyes. I did not see among them the new
confederates lately sworn in, the traitor Chvabrine and the
"_ouriadnik_."
"Ah, ah! so it is you, your lordship," said Pugatchef, upon seeing me.
"You are welcome. All honour to you, and a place at our feast."
The guests made room. I sat down in silence at the end of the table.
My neighbour, a tall and slender young Cossack, with a handsome face,
poured me out a bumper of brandy, which I did not touch. I was busy
noting the company.
Pugatchef was seated in the place of honour, his elbows on the table,
and resting his black beard on his broad fist.
Pages:
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109