Chvabrine led Pugatchef to Marya
Ivanofna's room. I followed them. Chvabrine stopped on the stairs.
"Tzar," said he, "you can constrain me to do as you list, but do not
permit a stranger to enter my wife's room."
"You are married!" cried I, ready to tear him in pieces.
"Hush!" interrupted Pugatchef, "it is my concern. And you," continued
he, turning towards Chvabrine, "do not swagger; whether she be your wife
or no, I take whomsoever I please to see her. Your lordship, follow me."
At the door of the room Chvabrine again stopped, and said, in a broken
voice--
"Tzar, I warn you she is feverish, and for three days she has been
delirious."
"Open!" said Pugatchef.
Chvabrine began to fumble in his pockets, and ended by declaring he had
forgotten the key.
Pugatchef gave a push to the door with his foot, the lock gave way, the
door opened, and we went in. I cast a rapid glance round the room and
nearly fainted. Upon the floor, in a coarse peasant's dress, sat Marya,
pale and thin, with her hair unbound. Before her stood a jug of water
and a bit of bread. At the sight of me she trembled and gave a piercing
cry. I cannot say what I felt. Pugatchef looked sidelong at Chvabrine,
and said to him with a bitter smile--
"Your hospital is well-ordered!" Then, approaching Marya, "Tell me, my
little dove, why your husband punishes you thus?"
"My husband!" rejoined she; "he is not my husband.
Pages:
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150