These words seemed to shake the chief.  Happily the other wretch opposed this view.

“Silence,” said this powerful fellow.  “You think of nothing but hanging and strangling.  It becomes you to play the hero.  To look at you, no one knows where your soul is.”

“And which of the saints are you?” replied the old man.

“Generals,” said Pougatcheff, with dignity, “an end to your quarrels.  It would be no great loss if all the mangy dogs from Orenbourg were dangling their legs under the same cross-beam; but it would be a misfortune if our own good dogs should bite each other.”

Feeling the necessity of changing the conversation, I turned to Pougatcheff with a smile, and said: 

“Ah!  I forgot to thank you for the horse and touloup.  Without your aid I should not have reached the city.  I would have died from cold on the journey.”  My trick succeeded.  Pougatcheff regained his good humor.

“The beauty of debt is the payment thereof,” said he, winking.  “Tell me your story.  What have you to do with the young girl that Alexis persecutes?  Has she caught your heart, too?”

“She is my promised bride” said I, seeing no risk in speaking the truth.

“Your promised bride!  Why did you not tell me sooner?  We’ll marry you, and be at your wedding.  Listen, Field-marshal,” said he.  “We are old friends, his lordship and I. Lets us go to supper.  Tomorrow we shall see what is to be done with him.  Night brings wisdom, and the morning is better than the evening.”

I would gladly have excused myself from proposed honor, but it was impossible.  Two Cossacks girls covered the table with a white cloth, and brought bread, soup made of fish, and pitchers of wine and beer.  Thus, for the second time, I was at table with Pougatcheff and his terrible companions.  The orgie lasted far into the night.  Drunkenness at last triumphed.  Pougatcheff fell asleep in his place, and his companions signed to me to leave him.  I went out with them.  The sentry locked me up in a dark hole, where I found Saveliitch.  He was so surprised by all that he saw and heard, that he asked no questions.  Lying in darkness, he soon fell asleep.

The next morning Pougatcheff sent for me.  Before his door stood a kibitka, with three horses abreast.  The street was crowded.  Pougatcheff, whom I met in the entry of his hut, was dressed for a journey, in a pelisse and Kirghis cap.  His guests of the previous night surrounded him, and wore a look of submission which contrasted strongly with what I had seen on the preceding evening.  Pougatcheff bade me good-morning gaily, and ordered me to sit beside him in the kibitka.  We took our places.

“To the fortress of Belogorsk,” said Pougatcheff to the robust Tartar, who, standing, drove his horses.  My heart beat violently.  The Tartar horses shot off, the bells tinkled, the kibitka flew over the snow.