Pugatchef’s eyes flashed.

“Who among my people would dare to harm an orphan?” cried he.  “Were he ever so brazen-faced, he should never escape my vengeance!  Speak, who is the guilty one?”

“Chvabrine,” replied I; “he keeps in durance the same young girl whom you saw with the priest’s wife, and he wants to force her to become his wife.”

“I’ll give him a lesson, Master Chvabrine!” cried Pugatchef, with a fierce air.  “He shall learn what it is to do as he pleases under me, and to oppress my people.  I’ll hang him.”

“Bid me speak a word,” broke in Khlopusha, in a hoarse voice.  “You were too hasty in giving Chvabrine command of the fort, and now you are too hasty in hanging him.  You have already offended the Cossacks by giving them a gentleman as leader—­do not, therefore, now affront the gentlemen by executing them on the first accusation.”

“They need neither be overwhelmed with favours nor be pitied,” the little old man with the blue ribbon now said, in his turn.  “There would be no harm in hanging Chvabrine, neither would there be any harm in cross-examining this officer.  Why has he deigned to pay us a visit?  If he do not recognize you as Tzar, he needs not to ask justice of you; if, on the other hand, he do recognize you, wherefore, then, has he stayed in Orenburg until now, in the midst of your enemies.  Will you order that he be tried by fire?[64] It would appear that his lordship is sent to us by the Generals in Orenburg.”

The logic of the old rascal appeared plausible even to me.  An involuntary shudder thrilled through me as I remembered in whose hands I was.

Pugatchef saw my disquiet.

“Eh, eh! your lordship,” said he, winking, “it appears to me my field-marshal is right.  What do you think of it?”

The banter of Pugatchef in some measure restored me to myself.

I quietly replied that I was in his power, and that he could do with me as he listed.

“Very well,” said Pugatchef; “now tell me in what state is your town?”

“Thank God,” replied I, “all is in good order.”

“In good order!” repeated Pugatchef, “and the people are dying of hunger there.”

The usurper spoke truth; but, according to the duty imposed on me by my oath, I assured him it was a false report, and that Orenburg was amply victualled.

“You see,” cried the little old man, “that he is deceiving you.  All the deserters are unanimous in declaring famine and plague are in Orenburg, that they are eating carrion there as a dish of honour.  And his lordship assures us there is abundance of all.  If you wish to hang Chvabrine, hang on the same gallows this lad, so that they need have naught wherewith to reproach each other.”

The words of the confounded old man seemed to have shaken Pugatchef.

Happily, Khlopusha began to contradict his companion.

“Hold your tongue, Naumitch,” said he; “you only think of hanging and strangling.  It certainly suits you well to play the hero.  Already you have one foot in the grave, and you want to kill others.  Have you not enough blood on your conscience?”