Let him go free, and you will get a good
ransom; but for an example and to frighten the rest, let them hang me,
an old man!"

Pugatchef gave a signal; I was immediately unbound.

"Our father shows you mercy," they said to me. At this moment I cannot
say that I was much overjoyed at my deliverance, but I cannot say either
that I regretted it, for my feelings were too upset. I was again brought
before the usurper and forced to kneel at his feet. Pugatchef held out
to me his muscular hand. "Kiss his hand! kiss his hand!" was shouted
around me. But rather would I have preferred the most cruel torture to
such an abasement.

"My father, Petr' Andrejitch," whispered Saveliitch to me, and nudged me
with his elbow, "don't be obstinate. What does it matter? Spit and kiss
the hand of the rob--, kiss his hand!"

I did not stir. Pugatchef withdrew his hand and said, smiling--

"Apparently his lordship is quite idiotic with joy; raise him."

I was helped up and left free. The infamous drama drew to a close.

The villagers began to swear fidelity. One after another they came near,
kissed the cross, and saluted the usurper. Then it came to the turn of
the soldiers of the garrison. The tailor of the company, armed with his
big blunt scissors, cut off their queues. They shook their heads and
touched their lips to Pugatchef's hand; the latter told them they were
pardoned and enrolled amongst his troops.

All this lasted about three hours. At last Pugatchef rose from his
armchair and went down the steps, followed by his chiefs. There was
brought for him a white horse, richly caparisoned. Two Cossacks held his
arms and helped him into the saddle.

He announced to Father Garasim that he would dine at his house. At this
moment arose a woman's heartrending shrieks. Some robbers were dragging
to the steps Vassilissa Igorofna, with dishevelled hair and
half-dressed. One of them had already appropriated her cloak; the others
were carrying off the mattresses, boxes, linen, tea sets, and all manner
of things.

"Oh, my fathers!" cried the poor old woman. "Let me alone, I pray you;
my fathers, my fathers, bring me to Ivan Kouzmitch." All of a sudden
she perceived the gallows and recognized her husband. "Villains!" she
exclaimed, beside herself; "what have you done? Oh, my light, my Ivan
Kouzmitch! Bold soldier heart, neither Prussian bayonets nor Turkish
bullets ever harmed you; and you have died before a vile runaway felon."

"Silence