"
What I feared came to pass.
No sooner had he heard Pugatchef's proposal than Chvabrine lost his
head.
"Tzar," said he, furiously, "I am guilty, I have lied to you; but
Grineff also deceives you. This young girl is not the pope's niece; she
is the daughter of Ivan Mironoff, who was executed when the fort was
taken."
Pugatchef turned his flashing eyes on me.
"What does all this mean?" cried he, with indignant surprise.
But I made answer boldly--
"Chvabrine has told you the truth."
"You had not told me that," rejoined Pugatchef, whose brow had suddenly
darkened.
"But judge yourself," replied I; "could I declare before all your
people that she was Mironoff's daughter? They would have torn her in
pieces, nothing could have saved her."
"Well, you are right," said Pugatchef. "My drunkards would not have
spared the poor girl; my gossip, the pope's wife, did right to deceive
them."
"Listen," I resumed, seeing how well disposed he was towards me, "I do
not know what to call you, nor do I seek to know. But God knows I stand
ready to give my life for what you have done for me. Only do not ask of
me anything opposed to my honour and my conscience as a Christian. You
are my benefactor; end as you have begun.
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