the old witch," said Pugatchef.

A young Cossack struck her with his sword on the head, and she fell dead
at the foot of the steps. Pugatchef went away, all the people crowding
in his train.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE UNEXPECTED VISIT.

The square remained empty. I stood in the same place, unable to collect
my thoughts, disturbed by so many terrible events.

My uncertainty about Marya Ivanofna's fate tormented me more than I can
say. Where was she? What had become of her? Had she had time to hide
herself? Was her place of refuge safe and sure? Full of these oppressive
thoughts, I went to the Commandant's house. All was empty. The chairs,
the tables, the presses were burned, and the crockery in bits; the
place was in dreadful disorder. I quickly ran up the little stair which
led to Marya's room, where I was about to enter for the first time in my
life.

Her bed was topsy-turvy, the press open and ransacked. A lamp still
burned before the "_kivott_"[56] equally empty; but a small
looking-glass hanging between the door and window had not been taken
away. What had become of the inmate of this simple maiden's cell? A
terrible apprehension crossed my mind. I thought of Marya in the hands
of the robbers. My heart failed me; I burst into tears and murmured the
name of my loved one. At this moment I heard a slight noise, and
Polashka, very pale, came out from behind the press.

"Oh, Petr' Andrejitch," said she, wringing her hands; "what a day, what
horrors!"

"Marya Ivanofna," cried I, impatiently, "where is Marya Ivanofna?"

"The young lady is alive," replied Polashka; "she is hidden at Akoulina
Pamphilovna's."

"In the pope's house!" I exclaimed, affrighted. "Good God! Pugatchef is
there!"

I rushed out of the room, in two jumps I was in the street and running
wildly towards the pope's house. From within there resounded songs,
shouts, and bursts of laughter; Pugatchef was at the table with his
companions. Polashka had followed me; I sent her secretly to call aside
Akoulina Pamphilovna. The next minute the pope's wife came out into the
ante-room, an empty bottle in her hand.

"In heaven's name where is Marya Ivanofna?" I asked, with indescribable
agitation.

"She is in bed, the little dove," replied the pope's wife, "in my bed,
behind the partition. Ah! Petr' Andrejitch, a misfortune very nearly
happened. But, thank God, all has passed happily over. The villain had
scarcely sat down to table before the poor d