"
"I'd rather die," I cried, furiously, "than leave her to Chvabrine."
"Ah! Bah!" said the old man, "I understand now. Probably you are in love
with Marya Ivanofna. Then it is another thing. Poor boy! But still it is
not possible for me to give you a battalion and fifty Cossacks. This
expedition is unreasonable, and I cannot take it upon my own
responsibility."
I bowed my head; despair overwhelmed me. All at once an idea flashed
across me, and what it was the reader will see in the next chapter, as
the old novelists used to say.
CHAPTER XI.
THE REBEL CAMP.
I left the General and made haste to return home.
Saveliitch greeted me with his usual remonstrances--
"What pleasure can you find, sir, in fighting with these drunken
robbers? Is it the business of a _'boyar_?' The stars are not always
propitious, and you will only get killed for naught. Now if you were
making war with Turks or Swedes! But I'm ashamed even to talk of these
fellows with whom you are fighting."
I interrupted his speech.
"How much money have I in all?"
"Quite enough," replied he, with a complacent and satisfied air. "It was
all very well for the rascals to hunt everywhere, but I over-reached
them."
Thus saying he drew from his pocket a long knitted purse, all full of
silver pieces.
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