"
I entered the "_izba_," or the palace, as the peasant called it. It was
lighted by two tallow candles, and the walls were hung with gold paper.
All the rest of the furniture, the benches, the table, the little
washstand jug hung to a cord, the towel on a nail, the oven fork
standing up in a corner, the wooden shelf laden with earthen pots, all
was just as in any other "_izba_. Pugatchef sat beneath the holy
pictures in a red caftan and high cap, his hand on his thigh. Around
him stood several of his principal chiefs, with a forced expression of
submission and respect. It was easy to see that the news of the arrival
of an officer from Orenburg had aroused a great curiosity among the
rebels, and that they were prepared to receive me in pomp. Pugatchef
recognized me at the first glance. His feigned gravity disappeared at
once.
"Ah! it is your lordship," said he, with liveliness. "How are you? What
in heaven's name brings you here?"
I replied that I had started on a journey on my own business, and that
his people had stopped me.
"And on what business?" asked he.
I knew not what to say. Pugatchef, thinking I did not want to explain
myself before witnesses, made a sign to his comrades to go away. All
obeyed except two, who did not offer to stir.
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