At last, however, he began to
snore, and as for me, I gave myself up to thoughts which did not allow
me to close my eyes for a moment all night.
On the morrow morning Pugatchef sent someone to call me.
I went to his house. Before his door stood a "_kibitka_" with three
Tartar horses. The crowd filled the street. Pugatchef, whom I met in the
ante-room, was dressed in a travelling suit, a pelisse and Kirghiz cap.
His guests of yesterday evening surrounded him, and wore a submissive
air, which contrasted strongly with what I had witnessed the previous
evening.
Pugatchef gaily bid me "good morning," and ordered me to seat myself
beside him in the "_kibitka_." We took our places.
"To Fort Belogorsk!" said Pugatchef to the robust Tartar driver, who
standing guided the team. My heart beat violently.
The horses dashed forward, the little bell tinkled, the "_kibitka_,"
bounded across the snow.
"Stop! stop!" cried a voice which I knew but too well; and I saw
Saveliitch running towards us. Pugatchef bid the man stop.
"Oh! my father, Petr' Andrejitch," cried my follower, "don't forsake me
in my old age among the rob--"
"Aha! old owl!" said Pugatchef, "so God again brings us together. Here,
seat yourself in front.
Pages:
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144