face."

I did not think it worth while to contradict the Cossack, and I followed
him into the Commandant's house, trying to imagine beforehand my
interview with Pugatchef, and to guess how it would end.

The reader will easily believe me when I say that I did not feel wholly
reassured.

It was getting dark when I reached the house of the Commandant.

The gallows, with its victims, stood out black and terrible; the body of
the Commandant's poor wife still lay beneath the porch, close by two
Cossacks, who were on guard.

He who had brought me went in to announce my arrival. He came back
almost directly, and ushered me into the room where, the previous
evening, I had bidden good-bye to Marya Ivanofna.

I saw a strange scene before me. At a table covered with a cloth and
laden with bottles and glasses was seated Pugatchef, surrounded by ten
Cossack chiefs, in high caps and coloured shirts, heated by wine, with
flushed faces and sparkling eyes. I did not see among them the new
confederates lately sworn in, the traitor Chvabrine and the
"_ouriadnik_."

"Ah, ah! so it is you, your lordship," said Pugatchef, upon seeing me.
"You are welcome. All honour to you, and a place at our feast."

The guests made room. I sat down in silence at the end of the table.

My neighbour, a tall and slender young Cossack, with a handsome face,
poured me out a bumper of brandy, which I did not touch. I was busy
noting the company.

Pugatchef was seated in the place of honour, his elbows on the table,
and resting his black beard on his broad fist. His features, regular and
agreeable, wore no fierce expression. He often addressed a man of about
fifty years old, calling him sometimes Count, sometimes Timofeitsh,
sometimes Uncle.

Each man considered himself as good as his fellow, and none showed any
particular deference to their chief. They were talking of the morning's
assault, of the success of the revolt, and of their forthcoming
operations.

Each man bragged of his prowess, proclaimed his opinions, and freely
contradicted Pugatchef. And it was decided to march upon Orenburg, a
bold move, which was nearly crowned with success. The departure was
fixed for the day following.

The guests drank yet another bumper, rose from table, and took leave of
Pugatchef. I wished to follow them, but Pugatchef said--

"Stay there, I wish to speak to you!"

We remained alone together, and for a few moments neither spoke.

Pugatchef looked sha